


Adaptation

by Emma



Series: The Celtic Men [4]
Category: NCIS, Torchwood
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-14
Updated: 2012-07-14
Packaged: 2017-11-09 23:35:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 22
Words: 25,897
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/459751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emma/pseuds/Emma
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim McGee’s worlds collide as Torchwood is drawn into an NCIS case</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of an AU where Gwen and Owen were killed by Gray. So if you want to know why Martha is married to Rhys, why Jack and Ianto have a CP, two sons and two adopted daughters, and why Andy and Ianto are Kings of an alien race that settled on Earth millennia ago, you may want to read _Evolution_ and _Bred in the Bone_ first.

“You did not have the authority to call in strangers!”  
  
“I think you’ll find, Jethro, that in this case I have all the authority I need.”  
  
I skidded to a halt in front of the door leading to the Director’s office. I had never heard Ducky use that tone of voice, especially not with Gibbs. Those two had been friends for so long they had developed their own very personal way of fighting. I had been a fascinated spectator at a number of battles, and it was always Gibbs who turned cool and distant. It had taken me years to figure out that Gibbs hated fighting with Ducky and preferred to bury the disagreement, while Ducky insisted on battling it out until they had come to some sort of understanding. Now, it sounded as if Ducky had taken a page from the Gibbs manual. Except that what kind of authority could Doctor Donald Mallard, retired Chief Medical Examiner, have over Leroy Jethro Gibbs, Interim NCIS Director?  
  
Lily, Gibbs’s secretary, gave me a tiny smirk as she nodded towards the door. “Go ahead, Agent McGee. He said you should go right in.”  
  
I took a deep breath and pushed open the door. “Good morning, boss. Ducky.”  
  
Gibbs damn near snarled, but Ducky smiled in welcome. “Hello, Timothy. It’s been a long time.”  
  
“It certainly has. You look good, Ducky.”  
  
I wasn’t being polite. Retirement had done wonders for Ducky. He looked ten years younger and there were no worry lines around his eyes anymore.  
  
“Thank you, Timothy. You look well yourself.”  
  
“”If you two have finished with the compliments, maybe McGee can get around to telling me what he found.”  
  
I gave Ducky a sympathetic grin and then turned to Gibbs. “Nothing much. We went over the office and the apartment with the proverbial fine tooth comb and didn’t find anything. Commander Zigler says neither Ziva nor Tony spent too much time at the office. Ziva did say in passing that what they were working on was the sort of thing that would appeal to me.”  
  
“What did she mean?”  
  
I shrugged. “She didn’t explain. As far as Zigler knows, they had gotten a lead on the smuggling ring…” I looked at Ducky. “Ah… boss…”  
  
“Don’t worry, Tim.” Ducky said. “I’m consulting on this one.”  
  
“Giving orders is more like it,” Gibbs snarled under his breath.  
  
“I’ve already explained, Jethro. I’m not being difficult or trying to circumvent your authority. You need help on this one and Torchwood has a great deal of experience in these matters.”  
  
I think that there’s a moment in everyone’s life when they realize that their orderly world is going to be hit by a runaway asteroid and there’s nothing they can do about it. I had mine at the exact moment Ducky mentioned Torchwood. _Naming the thing gives it power_ , my mamó used to say. Torchwood was heading my way, and there was a good chance Timothy McGee would not survive the impact. Somewhere in the back of my head something small gibbered in panic.  
  
“It seems our Doctor Mallard has been keeping secrets,” Gibbs snarled. “Our unassuming forensic pathologist packs enough punch in Washington to override not only the head of NCIS but the Chief of Naval Operations. So, Ducky, do we get to know when this Torchwood is arriving?”  
  
“Torchwood is a what, not a who, and that can wait until we're all in the same place.” Ducky answered as if Gibbs had been the epitome of politeness. “As to who is coming, Jack Harkness, head of Torchwood Cardiff, and his partner Ianto Jones. They should be here in about thirty minutes, traffic permitting.”  
  
The asteroid crashed dead center and left a crater several hundred miles wide. Ianto Jones had come out of nowhere four years earlier to take the Crown of Winter, the first mortal ever to do so, a position cemented a year later by the birth of his twin sons on the Winter Solstice, right on the altar at Bryn Cader Faner. He would take one look at me and know me for what I was.  
  
My family had turned its back on the old ways and crossed the ocean in the seventeen hundreds, tired of waiting for the King my grandparents believed would never arrive. We had adapted to living in the mortal world, perfecting a shell game of interlocking family names and personas. We had been McGees in the seventeen sixties, Vaughans in the eighteen thirties, Bealths in the eighteen eighties, Griffiths in the early twentieth century and now we were McGees again. But we had never cast off our allegiances. My family was Winter, had always been and would always be, even after centuries of not visiting the Court; no political hijinks for the McGees, thank-you-very-much. I was the Winter King's subject, bound to his Blood and his Name.  
  
Gibbs made another face and stomped away, mug in hand, to the sideboard where the Keurig coffeemaker Abby and I had given him for Christmas was always at the ready. While his back was turned, Ducky came to stand next to me.  
  
“Don't worry so much, Timothy. It'll be all right.”  
  
“Ducky...”  
  
“I've known Jack for a very long time.” He gave me one of those sweet, reassuring Ducky smiles. “And I stand godfather to the Hawk.”  
  
I opened my mouth but nothing came out. To judge by his amusement, I must have been giving a good impersonation of a hooked fish. Ducky knew about me. Ducky knew about the Tylwyth Teg. Ducky was godfather to one of the sons of the Winter King. Ducky was friends with the Consort... My eyes narrowed. I had heard stories about Jack Harkness.  
  
“How well do you know him, Ducky?”  
  
The smile turned a little wicked. “My dear boy, a gentleman does not kiss and tell.” He looked over at Gibbs, stirring a ridiculous amount of sugar in his coffee. “You should trust Jethro, Timothy.”  
  
“It's not exactly the sort of thing one blurts out, Ducky.”  
  
“What isn't?”  
  
I winced. We had forgotten Jethro's damned bat hearing. “Ah... personal, boss. Maybe...”  
  
The intercom on Jethro's desk saved my ass for the moment. “Director, Captain Jack Harkness and Mr. Ianto Jones to see you.”


	2. Chapter 2

The man who swept in redefined larger than life. Tall, broad-shouldered, projecting charm like a beauty queen at a ribbon-cutting except his was completely natural, and a hardness lurking in his blue eyes that I would be reluctant to face head on. I recognized him from the mirror-images my grandmother's sister had sent at the time of the King's coronation. This was Captain Jack Harkness, Winter's Consort, and birth parent to the King's two sons. There were so many outlandish rumors floating about him that nobody knew exactly what to believe, but the Small Ones had confirmed that he was only partly human and that he was in some way bound to the energy of the Great River.   
  
His eyes swept over all of us. I felt myself measured and weighed. I must have passed because he gave me the sort of smile that went straight to the hormones. Then he threw his arms around Ducky and kissed him soundly. The gesture seemed totally comfortable for both men, but I heard Gibbs growl. Discretion being the better part of valor, I managed to keep my face straight.   
  
“Jack. Behave.”  
  
The admonition was made in a weary sort of voice that told me it had probably been spoken a thousand times before. I looked towards the speaker. Ianto Jones was also tall, but slighter than his Consort, and much more self-contained. He seemed much too young for his achievements, but when I Looked at him with all my senses, the blast of Power rocked me back on my heels. The Lady Achren had spent those millennia breeding the Jones family very well indeed.   
  
He looked at me first. I bowed my head and brought my hand to tap my chest and then out and low to the side, holding an imaginary sword: _My head, my heart, and my sword arm at your service_. I knew Gibbs was watching but I could not not do it. It was required of someone of my station on first meeting the King, a sign of allegiance to his sovereignty, and some things are too deeply imbedded to be refused or ignored. He dipped his head in acceptance, and I found I could breathe properly again. He hugged Ducky in a much more restrained fashion, then turned to Gibbs.  
  
“Director Gibbs, I’m Ianto Jones and this is Jack Harkness.”  
  
Gibbs tried the intimidating stare bit, but neither man seemed unduly impressed. Finally, he addressed Harkness.  
  
“Are you entitled to wear that coat?”  
  
Harkness grinned. “Twice over.”  
  
“Yeah.” Gibbs was not even trying for politeness. He didn't like the answer, and didn't make a secret of it. “Ducky says you can help us. How?”   
  
Harkness dropped the charm. “By identifying what you have in your morgue and perhaps even telling you how to fight it. Unless you plan on continuing to lose agents, Director.”   
  
I had never heard Gibbs’s title used as an insult before – except by Gibbs. He didn’t like the reversal much. “What I have in the morgue is a dead marine.”  
  
“I doubt very much that Ducky would have pressed that particular button he did for a dead marine. If what you have in your morgue is what he thinks it is, you have trouble.”  
  
Gibbs transferred the glare to Ducky. “Why couldn't you just tell me?”  
  
“Because I'm not sure, Jethro!” Ducky threw up his hands. “I've only seen it in medical report photos. Besides, you would not have believed me.”  
  
“When was the last time I doubted your word?”  
  
“Give the Director a test run, Ducky,” Harkness said. “Tell him about it.”  
  
Ducky squared his shoulders and looked directly at Gibbs. “What you have in the slab downstairs is possibly a male of a non-human sentient race called Silurians.”  
  
Gibbs stared at him for a moment, then exploded. “What the hell kind of joke is this, Ducky?” He slammed his mug on the desk, spilling coffee all over the blotter. “Are you really trying to make me believe you brought the search for Tony and Ziva to a standstill because you think we found some sort of... alien?”  
  
“Not some sort. A very specific sort.” Harkness interjected. “A Silurian.”  
  
Gibbs rounded on him. “And you helped him. Who the hell are you, anyway? Did you hack into the computers or something?” He turned to me. “McGee, start looking for evidence of interference in the medical...”  
  
“Is that what you think of me, Jethro? After all our years working together, you really believe that of me?”  
  
The sadness in Ducky's voice brought Gibbs to a halt. He ran his fingers through his hair. “No, of course not! But Jesus, Ducky... it's either I never knew you at all or you're... sick, and I'd rather believe you're joking.”  
  
“Jethro...”  
  
“Ducky. There is no such thing as aliens.”  
  
“Technically speaking,” Harkness said thoughtfully, “they are not aliens. They are from Earth, just not human.”  
  
Gibbs ignored him and spoke to Ducky. “Do you hear him, Ducky? Do you really hear what he's saying?”  
  
“Yes, I do.” Suddenly Ducky's voice turned hard and sharp. “And I have trusted him for longer than I've trusted you. For once, he has never suggested I am senile.”  
  
“Ducky. There. Are. No. Such. Things. As. Aliens.”  
  
The sinking feeling in my stomach turned into a bottomless pit. Gibbs would never believe what Ducky and Harkness were trying to tell him without proof, the kind of proof that it would take time to provide. I didn't know if Tony and Ziva had that kind of time left. I stepped forward before I had time to think about it.  
  
“Yes, there are, boss.”  
  
“McGee, don't you start with your...”  
  
I raised a hand. “Be quiet, Jethro.”  
  
At any other time I would have laughed at his astonishment. While I still had his attention, I dropped my glamours and waited for his reaction.


	3. Chapter 3

Drustan ap Madog of the house of Govannon doesn’t look that much different from Tim McGee. Tylwyth and humans are built on the same plan: two arms, two legs, and a head at the top. I keep my hair short, as do most of the Tylwyth Teg males that live in the human world, because keeping a glamour on hair is a real pain in the ass. Our faces are human enough that we can pass for human with just a small touch here and there. Tim’s face is much more rounded and gentler than Drustan’s, and his eyebrows less shaped. Mostly we wouldn’t need physical glamour at all, if it weren’t for the ears.  
  
The Tylwyth Teg have pointed ears. They range from a gentle elongation that could pass as a variation of human to the high-point-flat-to-the-skull Vulcan version. Mine fall somewhere in between, but there’s no way I could function without a glamour. Especially not as a NCIS agent.  
  
I know. It’s a cliché. In fact, we probably gave rise to it. We weren’t nearly as careful about disguises in the beginning as we are now.   
  
Gibbs stared at me for a long moment, then came around the desk to stand so close I could feel his breath on my skin. I knew what was coming and braced myself. Sure enough, his hand shot out and he grabbed my right ear, giving it a hard tug. Switching hands, he gave the left one the same treatment.   
  
“Careful, Director,” Harkness drawled. “One more time and you’re engaged.”  
  
Gibbs snorted, but he took a step back. “Who are you?”  
  
“If you mean what am I, I am a Tylwyth Teg. My people came to Earth after our planet was caught in the explosion of a gas supergiant. We have lived alongside humans for millennia. If you mean who am I, I’m Timothy McGee, NCIS supervisory special agent.” I held out my hand, palm up. “I have worked and fought at your side for more than a decade. Isn’t that enough?”  
  
He looked at me with suspicion. “What do you want from us?”  
  
The rejection tore something out of me. I had fallen in love with Leroy Jethro Gibbs almost from the first. I had learned a great deal about being properly human from him and in return stood watch over him and his team in ways he couldn’t even imagine, playing the clumsy colt, the hopeless nerd, earning first his approval and then his friendship. And I had lost it all in one sentence.  
  
“For Christ’s sake, Jethro.” Ducky sounded weary. “When they got here we had barely invented agriculture, much less writing. If they wanted something from us they could have taken it. They could have taken the whole planet.”  
  
“How am I supposed to know that, Ducky? This morning I would have sworn on a stack of Bibles that I could take McGee’s word for anything. Not to mention yours. Now… you have both been lying to me for as long as I’ve known you!”  
  
“Enough.”   
  
The soft word sounded like a gunshot in the uncomfortable silence. Gibbs turned towards the man he knew as Ianto Jones with a look on his face that said clearly that he was not in the mood to tolerate insolence from a subordinate. It was a look I had seen aimed at me several times and it usually preceded a dressing-down of impressive scale. But instead of a nervous probie he was met by the Winter King in full panoply.   
  
It wasn't quite a visible thing at first, more like the change in atmospheric pressure that comes before a storm. Then a slight wind began to blow, and a thin cover of frost appeared in all the surfaces. The air was filled with the scent of oak and holly fires, of bubbling stew pots and baking bread. Far in the distance I heard the hard hoof beats and horn calls of Arawn's Hunt.  
  
“Do We have your attention now, Director Gibbs?” the King's voice was calm and even, but there was no chance Gibbs could ignore it. “You are an experienced soldier and investigator. You will please Us by bringing your talents to bear on the question at hand.”  
  
Gibbs wasn't going down without a fight. “And what is that?”  
  
“Don't try Our patience, Director. You have two missing agents, a dead Silurian downstairs in a freezer box, and no clue as to what is really going on. We can help you solve the puzzle and get your people back.”  
  
“Why? Why would you want to help?”  
  
The King smiled whimsically.”Because Ducky asked, of course.”  
  
“What is he to you?” Gibbs asked me. “I noticed your little salute when he came in.”  
  
“He is my King.” I held up a hand. “It's a long story and I promise I will go into it in detail at the first opportunity. They can help, Jethro. NCIS is out of its depth here. Hell, even I am out of my depth here. This is Torchwood's bailiwick.”  
  
“And Torchwood's bailiwick is?” Gibbs asked, and for the first time since I had walked into the office his voice was missing the angry challenge. “Aliens?”  
  
The King waved a hand and the wind stilled and the frost disappeared without a trace. He returned to being Ianto Jones, the handsome young Torchwood agent. “Part of it, yes.”  
  
Gibbs walked back to his desk, grabbed his mug and swore under his breath. “Cold.”  
  
“Here, let me.” Jones took the mug and moved around Gibbs to reach the sideboard. He gave the Keurig a look of pure disgust in passing as he homed in on Jenny's old Capresso coffee maker that hadn't been used for years. He took the lid off the carafe and sniffed.  
  
“Sink?” he asked Gibbs.  
  
Gibbs pointed to the bathroom. As Jones left the room, he looked at us, eyebrows climbing. “A King who makes coffee?”


	4. Chapter 4

Gibbs inhaled deeply, then took a sip and leaned back in obvious bliss. “You know, I might be persuaded to ignore an invasion if you promised me a never ending supply of this stuff.”  
  
Jones chuckled, while Ducky and I did our best not to sigh with relief. Gibbs had watched closely as Jones made the coffee. Jones made it easy for him, making sure he didn’t block the view of the coffee maker even for an instant. It might have looked like suspicion to the others, but Ducky and I knew Gibbs well enough to know he was using the time to think. There were certain areas of his life where Gibbs didn’t like surprises, and his friendships were at the top of the list. He needed time to organize the new facts into a coherent whole. Whether the friendships would survive I couldn’t guess.  
  
Harkness waited until he had swallowed. “Are you sure you should have drunk that, Director?”  
  
Gibbs shrugged. “Ducky and McGee both vouch for him. You too, I suppose. And it’s Gibbs.”  
  
I was glad I was sitting down, because I didn't think my shaking knees would hold me up. I wasn’t optimistic enough to believe there wouldn’t be a long and serious interrogation in my future, but Gibbs had decided to withhold judgment.  
  
“Fair enough,” Harkness said. “And it’s Jack. Tell me about this operation.”   
  
“We got a tip that there was a smuggling ring operating from the Truman. Archeological artifacts, very good ones. They had started to backtrack the pipeline from several high-brow art galleries here in Washington. Four days ago they dropped out of sight. Their car was found in one of the parking lots in Norfolk. The marine's body was in the trunk.”  
  
“Artifacts?” Harkness leaned forward. “Do you have any images?”  
  
I reached across the desk, picked up the wireless keyboard, and turned the monitor so Harkness could see it. “Here. Ziva sent me a file early on. Pictures of the things they saw at the galleries.”  
  
He took the keyboard and started flipping through the list. “Canopic jar with the head of Hapy, possibly 1200 to 1050 B.C., nice chunk of change... Persian gold bracelets, pair, gold fretwork with turquoise and carnelian beads, 250 B.C., maybe? That is definitely a prize winner, probably over thirty thousand pounds.... Bronze bowl, probably Urartu, 7th century B.C., very, very good... A bronze head of Zeus, Roman, second century A.D, a little over five thousand pounds... Oh. Ianto, look at this.”  
  
Jones came to look over his shoulder, leaning comfortably against him. “That is not good news.”  
  
The rest of us crowded around them, including Gibbs. “Incomplete sistrum, carved out of green marble, handle mostly missing, possibly a head of Hathor with metal beads strung between the horns above the sun disk.” I read the label underneath. “Egyptian, 26th Dynasty. What's so not good news about that?”   
  
“That's not a sistrum. That's part of a Silurian sonic projector.” Jack tapped the screen. “The only known cache of Silurian artifacts of this caliber is in Torchwood Cardiff's strongest secure archive vault. A few pieces have surfaced here and there, usually pots and bowls that pass as Mayan or ancient Egyptian. Nothing like this.”  
  
Gibbs returned to his chair. “So tell me about these Silurians.”  
  
“The Silurians are Earth's first sentient species. They are reptilian in evolutionary descent. They had an advanced civilization, built large cities, and kept a certain early hominid as a pet and even did genetic experiments on them. One side effect of the experiments, which were the equivalent of our breeding better beef cattle, is that the hominid developed intelligence. At about the same time, their scientists discovered a small planet heading for Earth on a crash course. The Silurians created vast hibernation chambers and sealed themselves underground. Unfortunately, or fortunately for us, the hibernation technology failed or was sabotaged and they never awoke until it was too late. By the time they emerged, humans had established their dominance. We've had a few encounters, friendly and unfriendly, but they are basically a remnant population. Dying out slowly.”  
  
Gibbs stared at Harkness as if trying to see inside his skull. “So you're telling me that these reptile things bred the human race?”  
  
Harkness shrugged, holding out his hands in the classic _what can I tell you_ gesture. “Oops?”  
  
“All right, say I... accept... your story. Why are they here now?”  
  
“That might not be the most pressing question, Jethro,” Ducky said. “The how might be more important. That dead marine downstairs looks exactly like a human being until you cut him open. If the Silurians can disguise themselves so effectively, your invasion joke might not be much of one.”  
  
“According to our records, the Silurians were fanatical about protecting their genetic purity.” Harkness handed the keyboard back. “But maybe some bright lad has convinced them to try something new. In their eyes we took what was theirs, and there’s always been some who really would like to take it back.” He steepled his fingers under his chin. “I should have brought John.”  
  
“Who’s John?” Gibbs asked.  
  
“My lab guy. The man can trace one molecule of any compound back to its point of origin through city traffic. We need that body downstairs scoured for clues of any sort.”  
  
“Abby,” I said. At Harkness’s questioning look, I explained. “Our former forensic lab tech. She teaches at Georgetown these days, but she’s on sabbatical, finishing up a book. She would come back in a heartbeat if she knew about Tony and Ziva.”  
  
He turned to Gibbs. “Can we get her?”  
  
“Don’t ask me. The last time I spoke to her she threw a vase at my head.”   
  
The impulse to jump to Abby’s defense had never quite left me. “You shouldn’t have given her a hard time about her dating habits, boss. It wasn’t as if we had been still married.”   
  
Harkness gave me a hard look. “Ex-wives with issues can be very disruptive in a situation like this.”  
  
“Abby and I get along just fine. The only problem we ever had was being married.” I fished out my cell phone and pressed 1. “Hey, Abby… yeah… we need your help, Abbs… Abby… no, listen… Abby! It’s Tony and Ziva. They’re missing and we need serious lab help. Thomlinson isn’t going to cut it... Good. See you.”  
  
I put the phone away. “She'll be here in about an hour.”  
  
“McGee,” Gibbs said abruptly, “Does Abby know... about you?”  
  
I grinned at him. If I always wanted to defend Abby, Gibbs always wanted to protect her. “Of course she does. It's not possible to maintain a glamour when... well, you know.”  
  
“And she let you go?”  
  
For a brief second I contemplated just telling him the truth, telling him that there was a Gibbs-sized hole between Abby and I. We loved each other, but we loved him too, and we were incomplete without him. I heard a soft sigh, something most human ears would not have picked up, and I turned my head and met my King's eyes. He was looking at me, and there was compassion in his eyes, and a kind of odd hope.  
  
I turned back to Gibbs, heart pounding. “What makes you think she has?”


	5. Chapter 5

“Is he always like this?” Gibbs muttered to Jones, watching Harkness flirt shamelessly with both Ducky and Abby as they worked on a plan of attack for the forensic examination of the Silurian body.   
  
“Some days he's worse,” Jones deadpanned, then he sighed wearily at the stormy look on Gibbs's face. “Flirting is like breathing to Jack, Director. You should really worry when he stops. Besides, he comes home each night to me and our kids... ah. Ducky didn't tell you.”   
  
I clamped down on my lower lip. The utter shock on Gibbs face struck me as hilarious, but snickering at the boss would not be conducive to getting back in his good graces.   
  
“He seems to have forgotten to tell me a number of things.” Gibbs said.   
  
“Torchwood has a pretty draconic secrets policy,” Jones explained. “Technically, Ducky's memory should have been erased when he resigned. Jack cut a deal with the Director to let him walk with his mind intact. Ducky would keep his mouth shut and his eyes open and would notify Torchwood if he came across something in our area of expertise. This is the first time in thirty years that he has pushed the button.”   
  
“And that's another thing. Harkness had to have been a teenager thirty years ago!”   
  
Ianto shook his head. “There are some things we're going to leave until later, Director.”   
  
“Gibbs. All right. What's one more mystery?” He marched over to the conference table. “We have something?”   
  
“I'll get started,” Abby said to Ducky and Harkness, completely ignoring Gibbs. “You've given me enough to at least generate some lines of inquiry.”   
  
Gibbs touched her shoulder. “Abby, please...”   
  
She gave him one of her patented Abby sneers, and then threw herself at him, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I'm here for Tony and Ziva. Not for you. I want you to understand that because, you know, I don't want you to think that I'm here for you at all...”   
  
“Abbs.”   
  
“Oh, all right, maybe a little bit for you too. And McGee, because you know, McGee, he's important too and...”   
  
“Abbs...”   
  
She took a deep breath. “Ok. Stop babbling, Abby. Off to the lab. I'll call you as soon as I have anything.”   
  
We watched her leave, then exchanged looks of pure masculine appreciation. Abby had grown up in all the best ways. She still had bangs, but the pigtails were gone, replaced by a sleek French braid. Her clothes had gone from Goth to sexy... well, I don't know what it was called. Black Hussar jacket with silver regimental buttons and silver braiding on the cuffs and collar, Chanel tweed pencil skirt ending right at the knee, lace stockings, very high heeled Victorian walking boots, and the silver ear dangles my mother had given her when we got engaged. When Abby moved through the hallowed corridors of Georgetown, jaws dropped and drool coated the floors.   
  
Ducky smiled reminiscently. “She reminds me of...”   
  
“Yeah,” Harkness said. “And probably just as dangerous.”   
  
“Those were interesting days. Right. I'm heading for the medical lab myself. Mr. Palmer and I have a date with a corpse.” He handed a key to Jones. “In case you're finished before I am. Third bedroom on the left.”   
  
“We'll put the kettle on.”   
  
He patted Ducky's shoulder and murmured something that made him laugh. I noticed that the pats were accompanied with a bit of an energy boost. So maybe Ducky's good health was not just due to a comfortable retirement and good exercise habits.   
  
“McGee,” Harkness said to me, “I assume you've been put in charge of retracing your missing agents' steps?”   
  
“Tony DiNozzo and Ziva David. Yes.”   
  
“What have you found so far?”   
  
I looked at Gibbs. He had his poker face on. No help there. “A call came in through our switchboard. Tony was the supervisory agent on duty that night, so he caught it. Anonymous. The caller claimed that sailors out of the big carrier at the yard were selling antiquities to the less scrupulous local dealers, to the tune of millions of dollars. The whole thing sounded strange, but Tony decided to look into it. Turns out the Truman had just returned from a tour with the Sixth Fleet out of Naples. More interestingly, the call had originated from a land line registered to the Artemis Gallery, in Woodley Park.”   
  
“Was he able to identify who made the call?”   
  
“No. The line is available to all the employees as well as the owner. Background checks turned up nothing. The owner, Magda von Teuffenbach, is the widow of a wealthy Austrian aristocrat who served as cultural attaché for years. The employees are Michael Rosenn and Ysobel Solis, American University graduate art students, working part-time, mainly getting hands on experience in the field, Anna Orsini, a distant relative of the owner’s family, working full time mostly at catching a rich husband, according to the others, and Roberta Lehman, accountant, part-time, does work for a number of the businesses in the area.”   
  
“How deep did the background check go?”   
  
“I only have copies of the prelim reports. Ellen Robbins, one of my team, is diving deeper. If anyone can find an anomaly, she can. “   
  
“Good, but we might have something better for identification purposes.” He raised his arm and pointed at a wide strap around his wrist. “This can detect alien DNA and it carries the largest database of alien species in existence. Ianto and I can go to the gallery posing as buyers. If there are any Silurians there we’ll find them.”   
  
“Why would the Silurians call our attention to the smuggling?" Gibbs asked.   
  
“Can you imagine a better way to keep Silurian artifacts from getting into the antiquities market? Sooner or later, someone is going to take a close look at those things and start asking questions. Destroy the smuggling, close the pipeline.”   
  
Gibbs nodded. “Makes sense, if we assume that they are the ones doing it.”   
  
“No harm in testing the hypothesis, is there?” Jones said. “Besides we can do a quick and dirty examination of the artifacts for traces of soil or other contaminants. It might give us an idea where the cache is.”   
  
“Useful little thing you’ve got…” He gave as hiss of annoyance as his phone rang. “Gibbs… Yes… Yes… Don’t let anyone near it. We’re on our way.”   
  
He hung up and looked at me. “That was Zigler. They found another body behind some crates near the Truman dock. It’s been pretty badly mutilated but… he thinks it’s Ziva, Tim.” He gestured to Harkness and Jones. “I think you’re going to get to use that thing sooner than expected.”


	6. Chapter 6

The Sea Dragon’s rotor filled the cabin with a dull roar that rattled my back teeth even through my helmet. Gibbs sat next to me in grim silence. He had a special relationship with Ziva; none of us knew the full story of Ari Haswari's death, but it had created a link between them that had only grown stronger over the years. When Tony and Ziva had first moved in together, something very specifically not sanctioned by NCIS rules, Gibbs had looked the other way, but he had pulled Tony into an interrogation room and read him the riot act. I didn't know what he had said, but I did notice that Tony and Ziva did not often partner each other on the field. This particular assignment had been a fluke, because Mike Sargento, Tony’s usual field partner, was in the hospital with a broken leg.  
  
The chopper landed on the Naval Base golf course. Zigler was waiting for us. Gibbs left it to me to make introductions as he stalked away towards the SUV waiting for us.  
  
“Commander Zigler, Jack Harkness and Ianto Jones. They’re here from the UK for consultation.”  
  
“The Navy needs consultants for a criminal case?”  
  
“We’ve dealt with something similar,” Jones said easily as they shook hands. “The Director thought we could be of some use.”  
  
Zigler led the way to the SUV and got into the driver’s seat. Gibbs had already settled into the passenger seat. Harkness, Jones, and I crowded into the back.   
  
“I hope we can get this resolved soon.” Zigler said. “The Truman goes back out in three weeks. It’d be nice to know we don’t have anything to worry about.”  
  
He drove down Hughes Drive to pier 12, the Truman’s usual berth while in Norfolk. Right before Hughes became Decatur he made a right into an access road leading to a clump of buildings right by the water. Next to them there were several container units the size and shape of long-distance shipping trailers. Guards were posted around one of them.   
  
Zigler barely had time to stop when Gibbs and Harkness were already jumping out, stalking towards the container with matching strides. I couldn’t help noticing how alike in mannerisms they were. It was almost a certainty that Harkness was as much of a control freak as Gibbs was.  
  
“Like stags butting antlers. I’m going to have to hide the measuring tape.” Jones muttered. Noticing my grin, he waved towards the two identically ramrod-straight backs. “Old family joke, sorry. Yes, they are going to be a pain in the arse. Can’t be helped.”  
  
We chased after them, Zigler bringing up the rear. The container door was open. Inside, pallets full of equipment and supplies lined the walls and ran down the center, forming two aisles. Half-way down the middle of one, something lay crumpled under a tarp. Someone had been intelligent enough to position flood lights to illuminate the scene from several angles. It felt unreal, like a movie set instead of the scene of a murder.  
  
Harkness looked back over his shoulder. “Commander Zigler, has anyone searched the other containers and the buildings?”  
  
“Not yet,” Zigler said. “We found the body, sealed up the area, and contacted NCIS.”  
  
“Could you coordinate a search? It would speed up the process.”  
  
Zigler nearly saluted before he realized that the British Group Captain in front of him was actually a flyboy from a foreign service. He turned back, calling several of the men stationed outside by name. Harkness watched him go and then turned back to Gibbs.  
  
“I’m letting you see this because Ducky trusts you. Don’t disappoint him.”   
  
Without waiting for a reply, he stalked to the body and pulled back the tarp. I felt a stinging in my eyes and blinked the tears back. The dark hair covered the worst damage to the face, but I had no trouble recognizing her. Neither did Gibbs. He went blank, expressionless; only the eyes burned. I knew the fire would not burn itself out until we caught her killer.  
  
Harkness brought his forearm across his chest and pressed several buttons in his strap. A cone-shaped beam of light flowed from it to envelop the body on the floor. At first I couldn’t see anything, but then, slowly, a figure appeared. It wasn’t human. Bipedal, but definitely reptilian, it resembled nothing so much as the creature from the Black Lagoon from the classic horror movie, except for the intelligence blazing from its eyes.  
  
“Silurian,” Harkness said.  
  
“This confirms it, doesn’t it?” Jones asked. “They’re playing with DNA.”  
  
“Oh yes.” Harkness knelt next to the body. He ran his hand along the hairline until he found something he was obviously looking for. “Third eye hidden in the hair.”  
  
“Are you sure?” Gibbs voice sounded raspy. “It’s not Ziva?”  
  
“It’s not agent David,” Harkness confirmed. “In fact, it’s probably something they created just to make you think agent David was dead. When you look closely you can see where they didn’t bother to do the job properly. Let’s send the body to Ducky but I think his findings will confirm it.” He stood up. “Do you trust anyone here, Gibbs? Other than the four of us, I mean?”  
  
“Not really.”  
  
“Then let’s not tell them anything yet. Look grim. Have them ship the body to your lab. Keep Zigler looking for agent DiNozzo. As far as they are concerned, you have a dead agent and are still looking for the other. If you have to explain later, you can always blame it on plastic surgery.”  
  
Gibbs gave him a hard look, but finally nodded. “Yeah.”  
  
We trooped out and found Zigler. He seemed genuinely shocked when Gibbs told him the news.   
  
“I’m sorry, Gibbs. She was one of the good ones. A pistol.” He offered Gibbs the keys to the SUV. “Drive yourself back. I’ll stay here and make sure the body is properly handled. Airlift to your labs, right?”  
  
“Yes, Commander. Thank you.”   
  
We got into the SUV. Harkness pointed me to the front passenger seat. As he got in the back, Gibbs looked over his shoulder.  
  
“Now what?”  
  
“Now, we go to Ducky’s place and start dinner. McGee, call Ducky and tell him to bring Abby and that other doctor, Palmer, with him. We need to talk, and Ducky’s house is probably the most secure place in Washington. The White House included.”


	7. Chapter 7

“You promised me a story.”  
  
Gibbs and I were sitting on the couch in Ducky's solarium, watching Harkness and Jones prepare dinner. They seemed perfectly at home in the kitchen. Harkness had ditched the coat and boots and was padding around in his socks. Jones had taken off his suit coat and tie and rolled up his sleeves. It was clear that they had been doing it for a while; jobs were apportioned by some sort of unspoken agreement, Jones dealing with vegetables while Harkness prepared the chicken.   
  
Jones had opened a bottle of wine and set everyone up. He had handed Gibbs his with a slight smirk that left me in no doubt that Ducky had told him a few things, among them Gibbs's preference for beer at the end of the day. Gibbs accepted it with a nod and a silent toast. The news that the body was not Ziva's had relaxed him enough so that a little gentle ribbing was a source of amusement rather than irritation. Now he sipped the excellent Alsatian Pinot Blanc Ducky's cellar had provided and prodded at me with questions.  
  
“Nothing much to it, or a great deal more than I can tell you in one night.” I answered. “My people come from another Universe. Our planet was destroyed when a runaway black hole slammed into our local gas supergiant. Some of us managed to escape and settled in the shadow dimension of what is now Wales and Ireland. Those people with whom we interacted considered us supernatural beings.. In Wales, the name they gave us was Tylwyth Teg, the Fair Folk.”  
  
He gave me one of his patented sardonic looks. “You're right, it's going to be a great deal more. Never mind. Let's start with one small detail. Is it hard to maintain the disguise?”  
  
“We call it a glamour, and no, it's not, unless you're really exhausted or... well...”  
  
“Having sex?”  
  
“Yeah.” I changed the topic quickly. “What's really hard is retraining yourself not to call on your natural abilities when you are in a mess. Or do it in a way that doesn't attract attention.”  
  
“How often have you used your... abilities... and blamed it on the computer?”  
  
I grinned – oh, all right, smirked. “Only a few times. I really am good with computers, you know.”  
  
“Lord Drustan's family are Keepers of the Wards,” Jones came up, bottle in hand. “It's similar to the role of the Doorward in medieval Scotland. Protectors of the King's property. Think of them as security experts. In this instance, the job determines the skills required. Refill?”  
  
“Lord Drustan?” Gibbs stared a me, mouth twitching. “Is that your official title?”  
  
I held out my glass. “Not quite. But my personal title is untranslatable, so suppose Lord will do.”  
  
“So when Tony named you Elf-Lord... Don't look so surprised, McGee. I did have to take some humanities classes in college. The Tylwyth Teg are the elves in Wales, the Aes Sidhe in Ireland. And they're all based on your people? Right?”  
  
“It's more accurate to say that there were legends the Tylwyth Teg fitted. And so their names for themselves passed into the human vocabulary,” Jones said judiciously.  
  
Gibbs studied him for a moment. “What do you look like?”  
  
Jones laughed. “Like this.”  
  
“No, I mean... Tim dropped his... glamour? You haven't.”  
  
“That's because he doesn't have any, boss.” I blurted out. “He's human.”  
  
“Back up. The King of the elves is human?”  
  
“Short version again, boss. Mr. Jones...”  
  
“Ianto. And the cook is Jack. You're family, Tim.”  
  
I nodded. “Ianto is the Winter King. The family from which we chose the Winter Kings died out several millennia ago. It was the reason we left Wales and then Ireland. My family did not believe there would ever be Winter Kings again and our jobs were obsolete.” I dipped my head in apology to Ianto. “Turns out one of our Eldest had found a human family with the right psychic gifts and bred them to be the next Winter Kings.”  
  
Gibb tossed back the last of his wine and held out his glass for more. “I shouldn't have asked. There's Ducky's car.”  
  
A few minutes later the man himself walked in, trailed by Abby and Jimmy Palmer. Poor Jimmy looked completely and hopelessly muddled. His nod in my direction was strained, and he kept giving Ianto and Jack quick looks when he thought they wouldn't notice. Abby, on the other hand, flounced in in her usual fashion, made perfect curtseys both as to style and rank to the King and his Consort, and then plopped herself down on the sofa between Gibbs and me.   
  
“So, McGee, God, would you untie my shoes, they are killing me!” She leaned back against Gibbs's arm as she raised her feet to my lap, giving me the blandest look in her repertoire. “Come on, chop chop!”  
  
When Abby gets in that sort of mood, it's less complicated all around to just let her work it out of her system. I did notice that Gibbs had absently juggled her until she was resting comfortably against his chest with his arm wrapped around her middle.   
  
Jack came out from behind the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the solarium with another bottle of wine and more glasses. I thought I caught a moment of surprise as his eyes swept over the three of us nearly cuddling in the small sofa, but it didn't last long. He handed the bottle to Ianto and held out the glasses to be filled, passing them out as Ianto did so.   
  
“Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes. It's a tradition in our household that we do not discuss business during meals...”  
  
“Not that we could. We have four children, including twin three-year-olds who are going through a spaghetti-throwing stage.”  
  
“Neeeever the less..." Jack wrinkled his nose at his partner. " No business during meals.”  
  
“There's not a great deal  to discuss,” Gibbs said. “Tomorrow, you two will start on the galleries. Tourists?”  
  
“No, I think we shall be looking for a place. My partner's job is moving us to Washington for a couple of years, so we are looking to furnish a sizable apartment.” He made a wavy sort of gesture, and I immediately got the impression of a spoiled man accustomed to living in luxury. “I can't live with other people's furniture, you know.”  
  
“You are very good,” Gibbs said thoughtfully. “Undercover work?”  
  
“Jack was the best. Caesar and I were good, but nothing like Jack.” Ducky hiked himself up on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “Mr. Palmer, Abby, and I will continue our forensic work. We have several hints, leads to follow. We should be able to give you a preliminary report tomorrow evening.”  
  
“And that leads us to the last item on the agenda,” Jack said. “We'll meet here every evening to discuss information and make plans. Torchwood spent a great deal of time and money securing this house. And now...” he reached into his pocket and brought out a handful of what looked like gold coins. “Take one and keep it as close to your skin as possible. If you are in a mess, just press it hard. Someone will come.”  
  
“Someone?” Gibbs rubbed the coin between his fingers. “Like who?”  
  
Jack grinned. “Why don't you give it a test?”  
  
Gibbs squeezed the coin. Suddenly there was the loud sound of air being displaced and a Small One stood in the middle of the room. Jimmy Palmer gave a squeak, but Gibbs just raised one eyebrow.  
  
“This is Marigold. She'll be keeping an eye on those coins. Make sure you don't lose them.”


	8. Interlude

  
“Everyone in bed?”  
  
Jack stripped off his trousers and jumper and tossed them carelessly into a chair. “Doctor Palmer is blissfully asleep in the big couch in the library, Abby is upstairs in her own suite, and Ducky is settled in with tea in his room. They want to get a very early start tomorrow morning. By the way, he knows what you have been doing.”  
  
Ianto shrugged. “He takes good care of himself and still has mental energy to spare. It seems a pity to let him slide into physical illness when it takes so little to keep him going.”  
  
“It's still very nice of you. One of the things that terrify me about this century is the inability to deal successfully with old age illnesses like senile dementia and Alzheimer's.” He took Ianto's chin in his hand and tilted his partner's face up for a kiss. “Thank you.”  
  
“You're welcome. Now, go brush your teeth and come to bed. I'm knackered and I want a cuddle with my man before I fall asleep. My naked man.”  
  
Jack was snickering as he walked into the bathroom, but he still made it into bed in record time. Sliding under the duvet, he pulled Ianto close. “This what you had in mind?”  
  
Ianto wriggled until he was comfortably tucked against Jack's side, his head on Jack's shoulder and one leg thrown over Jack's thighs. “No. This is.”  
  
“We aim to please.” He ran his hand up and down Ianto's back soothingly. “Did you notice the byplay?”  
  
“Oh yes. I wonder if Gibbs knows he's being hunted?”  
  
Jack chuckled. “Well, if he doesn't, Tim does. And he's looking a bit spooked himself.”  
  
“Abby is a very determined lady. I get the feeling she had been looking for a way back to those two.”  
  
“And this missing agents thing handed it to her in a silver platter?” Jack yawned. “She's worried about them. They used to be a very close-knit team.”  
  
“I know. But nothing says she can't multitask. Especially since if we don't find them in time... well, they're going to need each other. Like you, Tosh, and I did after Gwen and Owen died.”  
  
Jack's arm tightened. “God, those were bad days.”  
  
“We survived them. If they have to, so will they. However...”  
  
“Uh-oh” Jack said teasingly. “I don't like that look in your eye.”  
  
Ianto bit Jack's shoulder then licked the tiny hurt away. “It's my duty as his King to take care of him. The McGees need heirs, Jack. I don't fancy my family having to train someone else as Keeper of the Wards.”  
  
“I thought they walked out of the job.”  
  
“It doesn't work that way.” He walked his fingers up and down Jack's chest. “The McGees Keep the Wards strong by simply existing. It's their personal magic that protect us. I'm still learning how it all works. I'm not about to run out of McGees if I can help it.”  
  
“Does Andy have a McGee of his own?” Jack asked idly.  
  
“Yes. You know that young Lord who's been hanging around Gwen lately? Garieth? His father.”  
  
“You still won't hex the kid, uh?”  
  
“No, Jack, I won't. Gwen will be fifteen in a few months, and if I do say so myself, our eldest daughter is beautiful. She will attract the young lordlings like.. well, like heather attracts bees. It's what happens at that age. She's a sensible girl, she'll cope.”  
  
Jack sighed. “You're right. Besides, she still has that gap year trip with the Doc. Maybe he will manage to keep her.... “ Ianto's raised eyebrow stopped him cold. “Oh God. He's more likely to get her married to some alien Prince half-way across the Galaxy and we'll only see her once very decade.”  
  
“Down, Dad. You're hyperventilating.” Ianto pushed himself up until he could press a light kiss on Jack's mouth. “I think I shall offer McGee a job with Torchwood.”  
  
“You are an utterly evil man, Ianto Jones. Gibbs will go spare.” Jack bit Ianto's chin. “Well planned.” He grasped Ianto's hips and ground his erection against Ianto's stomach. “Did you plan this?”  
  
“No. Hoped.”  
  
Jack flipped him over and sprawled over him. The kiss that followed was languid and slow, an unhurried exploration that left them both breathing a little harder.   
  
“You are as beautiful as the day I met you,” Jack whispered.  
  
“Twpsyn,” Ianto brushed his lips over Jack's cheekbones. “It's been almost twenty years. I have a little gray in my hair these days.”  
  
“Even more beautiful, if that's possible.”   
  
This time the kiss was deeper, harder. Jack brought his knees to either side of Ianto's hips, straddling him and pressing their erections together. “I don't say it often, Your Majesty, but I love you.”  
  
Ianto wrapped his arms around Jack. “Same goes, Lord Consort. Same goes.”  
  
They rocked against each other, mouths fused. All those years together had given them intimate knowledge of each other's bodies, and they put it all to good use. Jack knew that dragging his tongue over Ianto's teeth made Ianto shiver and grip Jack even harder. Ianto knew that all he had to do was scrape his nails along the curve of Jack's spine right above the waist for Jack to growl low in his throat and pounce. Delicate touches, gentle strokes, a ghosting of breath over skin, a scraping of teeth, a hard suck that left a reddish bruise; each a confident expression of their hunger and its underlying devotion.   
  
Finally, Ianto couldn't stand it anymore and yanked open the drawer on the bedside table. Scrabbling inside it, he pulled out a small tube of lube. “Jack... Inside me. Now.”  
  
“Impatient as ever.” Jack squeezed some gel on his fingers and started to prepare him. “And just as tight. God, Ianto...”  
  
“Less talk, sir.”  
  
“You said that to me the first time...”  
  
“Jack, don't make me freeze your bollocks off. Get on with it!”   
  
Laughing, Jack pushed a pillow under Ianto's arse, positioned himself, and then plunged in. Ianto moaned and arched, taking him in completely, wrapping his legs around Jack's waist. They thrust against each other, the need urgent, desperate. Jack grasped Ianto's hips and pulled him higher.  
  
“Touch yourself,” he groaned. “You know... how I love to see you.”  
  
Ianto pumped himself hard, moaning with each stroke. The sight and sound drove Jack into a frenzy. Their movements became frantic, their bodies slamming together savagely until Ianto arched off the bed, his mouth open in a soundless scream, ribbons of semen pulsing out to coat his stomach and chest. Jack gave one last push and erupted inside his husband, knees giving way as he collapsed on top of Ianto.  
  
“Oh God,” Ianto gasped. “I think I broke something.”  
  
Jack silenced him with a hard kiss. “Gray in your hair my arse.”

 


	9. Chapter 9

Next morning I walked into the office to find that two of my guys had made it in before I had. One I expected to see. Ellen Robbins usually arrived with the sunrise. She was the ultimate morning person; her cheerfulness drove everyone nuts. On the other hand, seeing Max “Geegee” Vasiliou pounding away industriously at his keyboard was a surprise.   
  
GeeGee was as much a night owl as Ellen was an early bird. His social life was legendary. He reminded me of Tony when I had first met him, but where Tony had been a bit creative with his tales, GeeGee didn't need to exaggerate. The “GeeGee” was actually “G.G.” and it stood for Gorgeous Greek. He allowed the moniker with amusement, perfectly secure in himself and his own abilities.   
  
“Hey, GeeGee, what are you doing here at this hour?”  
  
“I had an idea last night, boss.” The younger agents had picked up on our habit of calling Gibbs “boss” rather than “director” and turned it on us. “I've known a few sailors in my time and a good number of them have a hard time hanging on to a paycheck. If a gang is making a fortune in illegal antiquities, at least some of them are spending it.”  
  
“GeeGee, there are over five thousand sailors and air crew in the Truman.”  
  
He tapped his forehead. “That's where the idea came in, boss. I'm not looking at the sailors. I'm looking at their wives and husbands.”  
  
“How about boyfriends, girlfriends, and SO's, Max?” Ellen piped up without looking away from her terminal. She was the only one who ever called Max by his real name.  
  
“If I don't find something in the first pass, I'll enlarge the radius,” he conceded, “but people trust their legal spouses more. I think we'll get something.”  
  
I left them discussing search parameters and headed upstairs to see Gibbs. He had given me a ride home after dinner, but we hadn't spoken much, keeping what passed for conversation on the case. He had left me at my door, refusing the offer of a beer or coffee. I still had no idea how things stood between us.  
  
The outer office was still empty; Lily didn't get in until nine. I knocked and went in when he answered.   
  
“Morning, boss.”  
  
“Morning, McGee.” He gestured towards the credenza, where a full pot of coffee waited in the Capresso. “I know for sure that Jack and Ianto did not come by this morning, but that was just finishing up when I walked in.”  
  
I poured myself a cup. “Ah... yes, well... there are traces of Small One magic here. They probably have a personal assistant of sorts.”  
  
“Do you?”  
  
I stirred sugar and a little cream into my coffee. “No. That's a prerogative of the Kings. The Small Ones are friends and companions, not servants.”  
  
“Not like house-elves?”  
  
“Bite your tongue!” I laughed. “Do you know how long it took to dissuade the bachgen'in from going after Rowling's head? I heard the Puck was ready to go full _Midsummer Night's Dream_ on her.”  
  
He was staring at me like I'd grown two heads. “Puck? The Puck? Robin Goodfellow?”  
  
Oops. I walked around the desk and sat on one of the chairs facing it. “Ah... yeah. He's the name given by mortals to the Eldest of the Small Ones.”  
  
“And Shakespeare picked it up?”  
  
“Boss...” I took a deep breath. “Not quite. The Puck was wandering through the countryside one summer eve and met up with a young boy. According to the stories the Small Ones tell, the boy _had his eyes full of stars and a head full of stories_. Puck took him under his wing and taught him, and in exchange, the boy told him his stories. The bachgen'in adored Will.”  
  
“Bach...gen'in?” he asked, stumbling over the pronunciation.  
  
“It means Small Ones in what we call the High Tongue, taffodh y Tylwyth. The Welsh borrowed the root, _bach_ , to mean little.”  
  
He shook his head. “I've fallen head first into a fairy tale.”  
  
“No, that you haven't.” I sipped at my coffee, trying to find the words to explain. “We're refugees, Jethro. We snuck across a border just like any illegal immigrant, except our border was a rift between Universes. And we had to close it behind us to keep the energy of more than a hundred exploding stars from flooding this Universe. This isn't our home, but we don't have any other.”  
  
“But you were born here, weren't you?”  
  
“Yeah. Well, in Wales, in my family's home at Tre'r Ceiri.” I shrugged. “It's hard sometimes, even for those of us born here. We can't walk down the street looking like ourselves. We have to train ourselves not to do things that are as natural to us as breathing. We adapt, but we do not belong, not really.”  
  
He looked as if he wanted to ask more questions, but all of a sudden, I didn't want to answer them. I took my mug into the bathroom and washed it out on the sink. “Thanks for the coffee, boss. I better go back down. Ellen and GeeGee are in the middle of running some searches. I'll call you if anything comes up.”  
  
“All right.”   
  
I made for the door as fast as I could without letting him notice I was basically running away. My hand was on the handle when he spoke.  
  
“If you can't sustain a glamour in bed, how do you manage a sex life?”  
  
I took a deep breath. “Gamers and role players are not easily shocked or surprised, and they are much more willing to accept _good costume_ as an explanation.” I turned back but kept my eyes focused on the wall behind his head. “But mostly it's not a problem. Our sex drive is in some ways much less complicated than a human's. Once Abby and I bonded, my desire focused on her.”  
  
“And now she's the only one you desire?”  
  
There was something in his voice that made me look at him. His face was impassive, but his eyes... “No, she's not.”  
  
He held my eyes a little longer. “And those little tricks the Puck plays on the lovers and on Titania, have you ever used any of them?”  
  
The door handle bent and crumpled under my hand as I fought to keep from killing him. When I was finally able to speak, I was amazed at how even I sounded. “My people would consider it a crime to use love magics on humans. Besides, what would be the point? Love obtained by trickery would taste like dirt on the tongue.” I pulled the door open. “Send for a locksmith. You need to change the locks.”


	10. Chapter 10

I stayed out of Gibbs's way all morning, or perhaps he stayed out of mine. I gathered my people and we went down to the high-security computer lab I had convinced Gibbs to install in the basement across from the forensics lab. We're not a field team, though we all keep up our ratings as per regulations and can deploy when necessary, but our primary job is to do all the electronic research needed by the other teams. It was an innovation, both the team and the lab, and it wasn't long before the entire NCIS structure started calling us _Gibbs's Geeks_ – but I noticed none of them were reluctant to use our services.

Right around lunch we got our first hit. GeeGee crowed and punched the air as he put the record he was looking at up in the large screen in the front of the room. On top there was the driver’s license of a rather pretty brunette with big green eyes. Underneath was a copy of a personal check.

“Anne Baker Wolf. Wife of Petty Officer Second Class Michael Wolf. She just bought a brand new car.”

“So?” Ellen challenged. “I did too, just last month.”

“You paid cash for a brand new Hyundai Genesis with the full package? Whoa, Ellen. I didn’t know you made that much.”

“Maybe her family is wealthy,” I said, more to be argumentative than because I believed it. “Or she inherited from a maiden aunt.”

“Her daddy is a high school teacher, her momma a home maker. Mrs. Wolf hasn’t inherited any money, unless it was delivered to her house in crisp bills by UPS. She has, however, been depositing large single sums into an account under her maiden name for the past three years. The deposits coincide with the Truman’s return to port, except for two times where the money was wired from Naples, where the Truman happened to be at the time.” He punched in a command, and the screen showed the first page of a legal document. “Mrs. Wolf lived a very quiet life until last month, when she filed for divorce from Petty Officer Wolf. It turns out he was not exactly faithful during his travels.”

Ellen gave him a feral smile. “Maybe she’s chomping at the bit to make him pay.”

“Yeah. Boss…”

I waved him on. “Go ahead. Ellen, go with him. See what you can get from Mrs. Wolf. I’ll take over…”

The phone at my desk rang. The caller ID window said _Director._ I took a deep breath and picked up the phone. “Yes, sir?”

“Come upstairs.”

The dial tone in my ear left no opening for argument. I turned to the only person left in the room. “Quint, I have to…”

“I figured.” Quinton Rowman, the team’s anti-hacking specialist, waved me away. “I can multitask.” He snagged control of Ellen’s and GeeGee’s terminals with his usual efficiency. “All cool, bossman. Go play office politics.”

Having delivered himself of what he considered the ultimate insult, Quinton popped his headphones back on and kept working. When I had brought him in for an interview, half the office had been aghast at the skinny, dread-locked kid with the Jamaican accent and the disregard for anything resembling authority. Gibbs, maybe remembering his own experiences with Abby, had given him a chance. Quinton had turned out to be quite an asset, decorated several times for his work in international counter-terrorism, and Gibbs loved to rub the fact in the noses of those who had disparaged his “crazy” hire in the beginning.

“Call me if anything comes up.”

“Boss issues, boss?” Sometimes I think Quinton sees more than it's comfortable, and sometimes, like now, I'm certain of it. “Sure.”

When I arrived at the Director's office, Lily waved me through with her usual cheeky grin. I noticed the bent door handle had been replaced with a scanning touch plate. I placed my palm on it and waited. A few seconds later I heard the lock snick open. I pushed lightly and the door opened.

“I see you let them talk you into modernizing,” I said more to try to regain some distance than out of any desire for conversation.

“Come in, Tim.” He was standing by the window, the perennial mug of coffee in his hand. “Jack and Ianto called. They're on their way back with some information. I've ordered some lunch and I've told Abby and Ducky that I'll call them as soon as they're here, but I needed to talk to you first.”

“I don't have much to report yet. GeeGee got a promising...”

“Tim.”

The soft tone made my anger boil over, for some reason. “There's nothing to talk about, Jethro. You accused me of using a love philter on you as if I were a lovestruck teenager in a second rate romance novel. Which, in case it has escaped your notice, implies that you feel something for me that you desperately want to deny. Your prerogative, but you don't get to keep your heterosexuality intact by believing that those feelings were forced on you from the outside.”

He stared at me for a very long moment. “Have you ever wondered why I seemed to favor Tony or Ziva over you when I was your team leader?”

“I assumed it was because their personalities and skill sets were much closer to your own than mine was. Like calling to like.”

“Then how do you account for Abby?”

I shrugged. “Very few people can resist Abby.”

”I brought you to NCIS because I needed a computer expert. You were so green and so out of your depth that I thought you would ask for a transfer back as soon as you could come up for air. Instead you fought your way into the team. Little by little, until finally even Tony had to admit he was your friend as much as your colleague. I watched it happen every day, and I couldn't take my eyes off you.” He raked the fingers of his free hand through his hair. “I had never felt that way about any man, not even Ducky, and if you had met Ducky when he was younger you would realize exactly how heterosexual I was being. So when I found out about you... well, I thought I had an explanation.”

I barely managed to keep the grin off my face. “Sorry.”

“Tim... I don't think I can change. This, whatever this is, goes against everything I am, everything I was taught to be. And then, there's Abby. You and her are a couple, divorce or no divorce. I wouldn't hurt her for the world.”

This time I couldn't stop the laughter. “You are the most conventional human being I've ever met, Jethro. You wouldn't hurt Abby at all, unless you didn't invite her to join us.” The look on his face sobered me right up. “We love you, Jethro. Nothing would make us happier than to share ourselves with you.”

He put the mug down on the credenza and came around the desk to stand in front of me. “You are insane. You and her both. It would never work, Tim. Things like that...”

He was interrupted by the buzzing of the phone. He moved back to the desk and pressed the button. “Yes, Lily?”

“Captain Harkness and Mr. Jones are here, sir.”

“Thanks, Lily. We'll be right out.” He looked at me and shook his head. “Tim...”

“Let it be for now, Jethro. We all have decisions to make sooner or later, but it doesn't need to be right now.”


	11. Chapter 11

I heard a fork clatter against a plate, but I couldn't tell if it was Gibbs or Abby. “You want me to do what?” I blurted out.  
  
We were having lunch in the Director's conference room. Using the Harkness-Jones rule, we had limited conversation to innocuous matters. It had all been going very well until Ianto had made his offer.  
  
Now he smiled at me innocently. “Consider coming home to work for Torchwood. Our computer expert, Toshiko Sato-Davidson, is expecting again. I have a feeling after this one she's going to go into semi-retirement. Her duties as Summer Queen and taking care of her family will be more than enough work. We need someone to take over and we like to keep things in the family, as it were.”  
  
“You've said that before,” Gibbs said. “That Tim is family. But you're human.”  
  
“I am also the Winter King and Tim is the heir to the current Keeper of My Wards. That creates a link that is difficult to describe in human terms, but family comes closest. He will at some point in time be in charge of my family's security. It may be useful to have him get acquainted with the brood.”  
  
I admired the way he skated over the fact that I would be in charge of his several-times-great grandchildren. My father was middle aged by Tylwyth standards and he had several thousand years as Keeper ahead of him. I looked at the Consort, but he sat there with a bland expression on his face. Only the blue eyes, sparkling with amusement, gave anything away.   
  
“Ducky said you had four kids?” Abby asked Jack, who was sitting next to her. “Two boys and two girls, right?”  
  
“Yes.” Jack pressed a button on his wrist-strap and a holographic image of four children dressed in Tylwyth Court robes appeared above the table. “The oldest one is Gwenhyfar Eugenie, the middle one is Eowyn Rose, and the boys are Owain and Rhys.”  
  
“Rhys is my godson,” Ducky said with a great deal of satisfaction. “But I will admit a partiality for Eowyn. She reminds me of my sister at her age. Accomplished horsewoman. Well, they both are, really, but Eowyn is utterly fearless. Takes any jump.”  
  
“It must terrify you,” I said to Jack.  
  
“Only every time they get on a horse.” Jack said ruefully. “But it's more than my life's worth to play the heavy-handed papa.”  
  
“They won't buy the act anyway,” Ducky snorted. “You are a notorious soft touch with the kids.”  
  
“Pot, kettle,” retorted Jack.  
  
Gibbs growled none too gently. “Maybe now we're almost finished we can concentrate on business?”  
  
Jack pushed the button and the image disappeared. “Sorry. I can bend your ear about the princelings for hours. Go ahead, Director.”  
  
The retreat to insult was obvious, but Gibbs just nodded and waved towards Abby and Ducky. “Forensics?”  
  
“Our seaman was definitely Silurian, and so was the body pretending to be Ziva, but there were considerable differences. The seaman's body was an amazing job of bioengineering. Everything that looked human worked as it should if it were human. I'll bet it could even fool a cursory medical examination. If the third eye was functional, he could fool even a Navy medical.”  
  
“Third eye?” Gibbs asked.  
  
“The Silurians have a light-sensing organ high up where a human forehead would be. We call it the third eye for shorthand. In some Silurian sub-populations it also has other functions, the most common being a sort of hypnotic ability. The seaman could have made a doctor believe, say, that he had already done the exam and everything was perfectly normal.” Ducky sipped some tea. “On the other hand, the other body was the worst piece of genetic butchery I've ever encountered. It wouldn't fool a second year anatomy student. I am forced to assume that it was either done by a far less skilled surgeon or it was a hurried job meant to fool no one.”  
  
I noticed Abby was doing the twisted lip bit that usually meant she was trying to arrange facts into a coherent whole. “Abby?”  
  
“Ducky, you mentioned sub-populations? How much do you know about them?”  
  
“Very little, I'm afraid. We know Silurians were obsessed with maintaining genetic purity even between sub-populations. Many of them had evolved their own localized physical variations, especially in the functions of the third eye and the height and structure of their crests. It's likely some could no longer interbreed. Jack?”  
  
“You've covered it, Ducky. Culturally they ran the gamut from militaristic to pacifist, from artistic to scientific. We don't have much more than that.”  
  
“So two sub-populations would not be likely to cooperate?”  
  
“Not likely, no,” Jack said. “But we can't write it off, either.”  
  
Abby nodded. “The DNA samples Ducky sent me are from two different sub-populations. Not only that, but sub-populations with considerably genetic variation, including a high degree of drift. Usually that would mean that they haven't been in touch for a considerable period of time, in genetic terms. But what are the odds that two different sub-populations would be connected to the same case?”  
  
“Abby,” Ianto said thoughtfully, “could you trace the sub-population to a geographical location?”  
  
Abby grinned happily. “Already done. Well, sort of. I ran some mineral tests. If you and your parents and your great-grandparents and so on are born in a place, trace minerals specific to that place build up in the tissues over time. Our seaman was born in North America. Our” she hesitated, “other one is probably from somewhere in the Mediterranean or North Africa.”  
  
“I think it's time you met Tosh,” Jack said. “Can we use your secure computer lab, director?”  
  
“Be my guest, Captain. Abby has all the appropriate passcodes.”  
  
Everyone but the two principals winced at the exchange. Jack stood up and offered his arm to Abby with a flourish. She took it and used it to haul herself up, doing a really good impersonation of a sex kitten. They flounced off, not bothering to close the door behind them.  
  
“Oh dear,” Ianto grinned at me. “Those two and Toshiko. It doesn't bear thinking of.”  
  
“I believe,” Gibbs said repressively, “that you were bringing back some news yourselves.”  
  
Ianto rolled his eyes. “Rhoi y mi amynedd. Yes, we are, Director. We visited several galleries. Each one had some things they shouldn't have, but the only one with Silurian artifacts displayed was the Artemis Gallery. Jack chatted up the sales staff at each gallery and it turns out they all have one employee in common.”  
  
“Roberta Lehman, the accountant” I said.. “She works for a number of galleries and other boutique stores in the area. Ellen checked her out back to elementary school. Clean as the proverbial whistle.”  
  
“That's as it may be,” Ianto replied. “We got her card out of one of the sales girls on the pretext of wanting to employ her once we moved our business to DC. We went to the address listed. It's a tiny office in a very discreet professional building.”  
  
Gibbs made an impatient sort of gesture. “And?”  
  
“And we can confirm that there is Silurian DNA on every surface.”  
  
“Wait a minute,” I said. “If Ellen could track Roberta Lehman to elementary school...”  
  
Ianto nodded. “The Silurians have been around for much longer than anyone could have imagined.”


	12. Chapter 12

When I returned to my desk I'd found a message from GeeGee letting me know that Mrs. Wolf had not showed up at her part-time job that morning. She had not been at home, either, but her next-door neighbor, Mrs. Andersen, had told them she had overhead Mrs. Wolf on her cell phone, screaming at her husband at the top of her voice, that she was moving in with her parents until the divorce was settled, and not to try anything funny with the house. Without much prompting, Mrs. Andersen supplied the information that Mrs. Wolf's parent lived outside of Alexandria. They had decided to follow Mrs.Wolf. People were sometimes much more honest when they felt safe.   
  
I looked in the computer lab and found Abby and Quint deep in consultation with a beautiful Asian woman whose animated features were familiar from my Summer relatives' frequent messages. Toshiko, Summer's Consort, who had stood with a katana over the body of the Winter King to protect him from tywyl. The mother of the eldest daughter of the Winter King as well as the son and heir of the Summer King. The woman whose machines guarded Earth from the things that walked the Road. She was well on her way to becoming a legend in her own right.   
  
I bowed to her and she waved at me and smiled. “You must be Tim. Jack and Ianto have spoken of you. I hope you take the job offer under consideration. I could use the help.”   
  
“Tim you will not believe this but they have a sentient computer, well, a biocybernetic one with sentience potential and we fed it my data and it is extrapolating all kinds of possibilities and…”   
  
“You’ll have to tell me tonight during our debriefing, Abby. I need to find Jack.”   
  
“He went back to Gibbs’s office. He said he was going to clear the air.”   
  
I made a fast exit and ran up the stairs to the Director’s office, skidding to a stop in front of Lily’s desk.   
  
“It was touch and go for a while,” she whispered, “but it’s settled down. You can go in.”   
  
I found Jack and Ianto attempting to explain some of the intricacies of Tylwyth Teg life to Gibbs, who looked as lost as the proverbial babe in the woods. I wondered in passing if they had yet told him about Jack’s own peculiarities. I told them what I had heard from GeeGee.   
  
“I had planned to take him with me to pick up Roberta Lehman, but he won’t be back for a while, so I was wondering…”   
  
Gibbs stood up. “I’ll go with you.”   
  
“No! I mean, you have meetings and things.”   
  
“Nothing Lily can’t postpone.” He grabbed his jacket. “Come on, McGee.”   
  
“Boss… if this Silurian has a hypnotic third eye, she could influence you.” I looked at Jack and Ianto, who ignored the foot in my mouth completely. “It could get…”   
  
“Difficult? Dangerous? Yes, McGee?”   
  
The even tone was a definite warning, and I decided to take it. I would just have to be extra careful. I followed Gibbs down to the garage and grabbed the SUV keys as he tossed them at me. As I turned into the madhouse that was D.C. traffic, Gibbs spoke up.   
  
“Jack says Ianto could order you back.”   
  
“He could.”   
  
“You’re an American citizen, damn it! Royalty or not, he can’t order you around like that.”   
  
“Ah… no I’m not.”   
  
“What do you mean no you’re not?”   
  
“I’m not an American citizen. Technically, that is. I arrived here where there wasn’t.”   
  
“Wasn’t what?”   
  
“A United States of America.”   
  
He swiveled around to stare at me. “Are you telling me you’re older than the country?”   
  
I was getting more and more nervous about the turn the conversation was taking, but there was no way to avoid it. “By about three hundred years, more or less.”   
  
“They were telling me the truth, then. The Tylw… your people are very long lived.”   
  
“By human standards, yes.”   
  
He turned away, fixing his eyes on the road ahead. “How can you love a human, then? We die on you before you can even blink!”   
  
“You can cram a lot of living into a few decades.”   
  
He shook his head. “It’s a very facile explanation, isn’t it?”   
  
“Don’t worry, Jethro,” I snarled. “I won’t try to show you how stupid your little rationalizations and excuses really are. You’ll have my letter of resignation tomorrow, effective the day we get Tony and Ziva back. I’m sure your unnatural infatuation will end once you don’t have to look at me every day.”   
  
The rest of the trip was made in silence. Gibbs had that pinched look that meant he was trying to hold on to his temper. Well, I wasn't much better. I was angry at Gibbs for not accepting himself as he was, not as he thought he should be, and I was angry at myself for not accepting him as he saw himself. I had duties and responsibilities, and in a few hundred years Gibbs would be a bittersweet memory. We Tylwyth had learned to live with the ephemeral nature of our human loves, learned to hold them lightly and let them go without regret. Perhaps it was time to let go of Gibbs.


	13. Chapter 13

Roberta Lehman looked a bit like a human version of a chibi, her eyes huge in a rounded face that ended in a sharp point at the chin. The top of the untidy bun of brown hair barely reached my shoulder. She had long fingers that seemed slightly out of proportion to the rest of her body, but otherwise seemed normal enough. She looked at the badge Gibbs was showing her and sighed with resignation.  
  
“Come in.”  
  
I jostled Gibbs just enough to make sure I went in first, a barrier between the two of them. “You were expecting us.”  
  
“From the time I made the phone call.” She gestured towards the small sitting area cross from the desk. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to try anything. It wouldn’t really help. We can’t reach very far.”  
  
“That may be true,” Gibbs said, “but I think we would all feel better if you came back with us.”  
  
“Are you sure you want me to do that, Mr. Gibbs?” she said with a wicked little smile. “In a small, enclosed space such as the interior of a car I could reach your mind very easily.”  
  
Gibbs pointed at me. “I’ve got protection.”  
  
She started to say something, then cut it off as she inspected me. I gave her a sweet smile and dropped my wards for a quick second, letting her see me as I really was.  
  
“Ah. We didn’t realize the Elves had also... adapted.”  
  
“Elves?” Gibbs asked.  
  
She shrugged. “That is what your ancestors called them. My ancestors knew they were a different kind of human but they didn’t pay much attention. Our own survival took priority.”  
  
“How long have your people been passing as human?” I asked her.  
  
She looked down at herself. “I am third generation. It took us a while to figure out the proper genetic sequences.”  
  
“Why?” Gibbs asked.   
  
“Because humans like to stomp on the different,” she said flatly. “You even do it to each other. There was no way you would have accepted us as we looked before.”  
  
“Reptilian?”   
  
She laughed. “Tell me, Mr. Gibbs, did you ever see a TV show called Land of the Lost?”  
  
He nodded. “My daughter used to watch it… Sleestacks? You look like Sleestacks?”  
  
“Not quite. We looked like Sleestacks would if they had come from Stephen King’s or H.P. Lovecraft’s imagination rather than a children’s television producer. Humans have never been fond of reptiles, Mr. Gibbs.” She shuddered. “Think what would have happened if your kind were faced with six-foot-tall intelligent lizards.”   
  
“Can you project an image?” I asked. “I am curious.”  
  
“McGee…” Gibbs warned.  
  
“It’s ok, boss. I don’t think she can project and attack at the same time.”  
  
She closed her eyes and lowered her head slightly. The image that came into my mind was sharp and clear. It showed a tall, muscular lizard standing on what we would consider its hind legs. The head had a large fan-shaped crest above huge eyes; the third eye was nestled between two of the crest’s ribs, high above a round orifice that seemed to serve as both a nose and a mouth. Rounded rectangles of translucent cartilage stuck out at right angles from the side of the head where human ears would be. There was nothing comical or cartoonish about it. It looked like a first-class intelligent killing machine.  
  
“I see your point,” Gibbs said, “but from what I’ve heard you people have your differences among yourselves.”  
  
“Yes, we do,” she agreed. “But we handle them by simply keeping away from those we are in disagreement with. We don’t make war on our own kind.” She frowned. “Until now.”  
  
“You think other Silurians have something to do with this?”  
  
She looked as if she wanted to deny it, but couldn’t. “Sometimes Silurian artifacts surface. My own people’s stuff is in museums, usually listed as unusual Toltec pottery. At first when the sailors brought things into the gallery, I thought they were finding them while diving or exploring caves. But then one of them showed up with brand new things. They had tried to make them look old, and maybe it would have taken in a human, but I knew they were recently made. There’s something about the smell of them… I can’t explain it.”  
  
“Trade goods?” I asked. “Maybe the other Silurian group is trying to find a way to, well, do what you did.”  
  
She shook her head. “When I found out about these new items I informed the Senior members of the Council immediately. They decided to send someone in to look into it. A younger male who could pass as a sailor. We found his body several days later, floating in the Potomac.”  
  
“Did you send another one?”  
  
“I think so. I don’t know if they have…” The look on Gibbs’s face froze her in mid-sentence. “He’s dead, isn’t he?”  
  
“Yes. We also found another body, but I we don’t believe it was one of your people.” Gibbs gestured towards the door. “We need your help.”  
  
“All right.” She took her coat from the brass coat rack near the door. “I suppose I’d better, if only to keep suspicion away from us.”  
  
My phone rang. I pulled it out of my pocket and answered it. “McGee.”  
  
“Hey, boss.” GeeGee sounded sober as a hanging judge. “We’re on the parkway, half way to Alexandria. Mrs. Wolff didn't make it to her parent's house. The local cops are fishing her car out of the Roaches Run Waterfowl Sanctuary. And boss? It wasn't an accident.”


	14. Chapter 14

Roberta Lehman sniffed delicately at the mutilated hand in front of her. “Definitely not one of ours. He smells much warmer. And...” she sniffed again. “He was in tainted salt water very recently.”  
  
“What do you mean?” Ducky bent closer and took a deep whiff. “Yes. Metal.”  
  
She nodded. “Processed metal, not ore.”  
  
“You can tell the difference?”  
  
“Yes. The same way I can tell that you drink a small amount of alcohol on a daily basis, or that he,” she pointed at Jack, “is not quite human.”  
  
I felt Gibbs's eyes burning holes in the back of my head. I wondered wearily how he would twist this bit of information around so he could blame me for it.  
  
We had brought Roberta back to the office and taken her downstairs to the medical lab. She had identified our sailor as Jonas Hartley, a fourth generation Silurian whose family had settled in Virginia in the eighteen nineties. Ducky had shown her the other body, and while her first reaction had been one of utter disgust, she had agreed to assist him.  
  
“Anything else, Ms. Lehman?” Ducky said.  
  
“Please call me Roberta, Doctor Mallard,” she smiled absently as she continued her examination. “When people call me by my last name, I tend to look around for my grandmother.”  
  
“Very well. Roberta. Anything else?”  
  
“I think so. See this here?” She pointed to a thin flap of skin behind the rectangular pieces of cartilage she had definitely identified as the Silurian version of ears. “These are auxiliary gills. This Silurian lived a considerable portion of his life in deep water. My people chose not to carry those into our new bodies.”  
  
“Do you know of any groups who still do? Live in underwater caves, I mean?”  
  
“Perhaps in Europe? There was a large sept in the general area of Sicily, and another one off the coast of Chile. But that was centuries ago. We chose to change and integrate. I doubt they would even consider us Silurians any more.”  
  
“Can I ask a question, too?” Jimmy Palmer said diffidently.  
  
I had to hide a grin. Whenever Doctor Donald Mallard was around, Doctor James Palmer, M.D., PhD, holder of several honorary titles for his investigations into forensic anatomy, reverted to Jimmy Palmer, newbie assistant. At Roberta's smile and nod, he went on. “If I understand what you told us correctly, your sept took time to perfect your form. You were probably worked on from the moment of conception, right?”  
  
“From the moment the shell was formed,” she agreed.  
  
“But this one couldn't have. He or she was made to look like a friend of ours. That would imply a different kind of genetic manipulation.”  
  
Ducky glowed with the satisfaction of a teacher whose student graduates summa cum laude. Roberta looked at Jimmy, then turned back to the body on the slab. Her voice was low and ashamed. “We have heard stories of experiments. My own great-grandmother told my father stories about a sept which was stricken from all records for such horrible practices that even their name was tainted. They were cursed and their lives and records destroyed.”  
  
I traded a look with Jack. He nodded slightly. The cursed sept had been the ones who had bred humans.  
  
Gibbs was leaning against Jimmy's desk, arms crossed , watching the goings on. “Roberta, could you identify the metal?”  
  
“I believe so.” She wrinkled her nose. “It's a very distinctive smell.”  
  
“All right. We'll set you up with Abby. But before we do, I need you to go look at some pictures with Tim. Let's see if you can identify the sailors who brought the artifacts to the gallery.”  
  
She smiled at him. “I can do better than that.”  
  
She closed her eyes and inclined her head. This time I was ready for what I would see. The images flickered slightly but then solidified, showing two men in civilian clothes. The first one was young and rather athletic, with black hair and green eyes. The other was a middle-aged man whose posture screamed bureucrat. They were both readily recognizable.  
  
“That's Petty Officer Wolff,” I said.  
  
“And that,” Jack said, and his voice was colder than the human hell was supposed to be, “is your Commander Zigler. I think we should go back and shake some answers loose, don't you, Director?”  
  
Gibbs's gave him a dirty look. “I don't know how you run Torchwood, Captain, but here I have this little problem called evidence. A hologram projected by a genetically altered alien... I can't even start to count in how many ways we could get laughed out of court.”  
  
“I'll get my team on both of them. GeeGee had a good search started on Wolff. We'll do the same to Zigler. We'll have something by tomorrow morning.”  
  
“That will work. And once I have the money trail, Captain, we will go shake some answers loose.”  
  
“Good. So we're through for today, then?”  
  
“Not me, unfortunately,” I said. “GeeGee and Ellen are following up with the Virginia police about Mrs. Wolff's death. Quint and I are going to pull a very long night. Don't expect me for dinner.”  
  
I left the room before anyone had a chance to object. After my conversation with Gibbs in the car, I had no intention of spending any more time with him than was necessary. Letting go was best done in one single gesture; dragging it out only contributed to the pain and it tended to turn one into a melodramatic ass. The job was as good an excuse as any.  
  
Quint was still in the computer lab. He was wearing his headphones but I could hear the 1812 Overture blasting away directly into his eardrums. The look on his face as of one having an almost mystical experience as his hands flew over the keyboard. I tapped him on the shoulder, and he jumped.  
  
“Damnit, boss, don't do that!” He yanked off the headphones. “I don't know how the heck you can sneak up on me like that.”  
  
“The Pacific Fleet could sneak up on you, Quint. How's the Wolff search coming?”  
  
“Talked to GeeGee earlier and in light of the accident we decided to expand the search. Already found lots of stuff, though it boils down to Private Wolff should have kept it in his pants. If he had, we would have had to spend three times as much effort, and might have missed some things. That boy had talent.”  
  
“All right. What else are you doing? You looked like you were about to burst into hymns.”  
  
“I'm interfacing with Mainframe.” At my puzzled look, he waved at the large screen. “The Torchwood computer. Damn, boss, if we could get our hands on one of those babies we could own the Eastern Seaboard in two years.” He sighed. “Unfortunately, she's one of a kind, and I barely understand the research she and Abby and Toshiko set up, so I'm reduced to being her hands at his end. No worries. I'm learning. What are you doing here?”  
  
“We had a tip Zigler was involved in the smuggling.”  
  
He whistled long and loud. “And we need to find the evidence so we can pull him in?”  
  
“You think they'll let us arrest the Commander of Navy Yard Security without it?”  
  
He grinned maniacally at me. “You take that one and I'll set up another one over here. Let's go hunting, boss.”


	15. Chapter 15

I popped the tab and took a long swig of beer. It was nearly midnight, but I was too wired to sleep. Quint and I had spent eight hours tracking down and correlating data; we might not have Commander Zigler pinned to the board but we had enough to get Gibbs his warrant.  
  
While waiting for results, I had written my letter of resignation and taken it up to Gibbs’s office. I had a key to the office for those times when I needed to put sensitive documents on Gibbs’s desk. I didn’t know if the letter qualified, but I didn’t care. Gibbs would find it the next day. He would probably blow a gasket at first, but it was a way out for him and I was sure he would take it.  
  
I hadn’t been home in nearly four hundred years. I wonder how much of it I remembered, how much of it I had forgotten, and how much it had changed. Primarily I wondered how easy or difficult it would be to live in a world where the Tylwyth Teg and the Bachgen’in were a part of my daily life.  
  
I stripped down to skin and pulled on my most comfortable pair of old sweatpants. I didn’t feel like spending any time online, but I knew I had to do something if I wanted to get some sleep. Turning off the lights in the living room and kitchen, I went down to the basement. Where Gibbs had had a boat shed set-up, I had a fully equipped exercise room. A weight machine and a rower were placed on either corner at the far end. The largest area was taken up by a springy wooden floor perfect for yoga, tai-chi, or, in my case, the _rhyfelwr y Tylwyth_ , the warrior training exercises every Tylwyth child practiced from the time they could stand without assistance.  
  
I centered myself in my own power and started to move. Lunge, chop, turn, hand up, cast, control, return, repeat in the other direction, physical and magickal blending together smoothly, again and again. Sweat ran down my torso to soak into my pants; thank God for moisture control fabric. Again, this time higher up, treading air underfoot as much as I could. Repeat again, until I reached the altered state that allowed full control of the energies within.  
  
I didn’t notice the time until the pounding on the door pulled me out of my trance. Glancing at the clock, I realized I had been at it for an hour and a half. My muscles ached and all I wanted was a shower and a bed, but there were only two people who would show up unannounced late at night and one of them had called me from her warm bed at Ducky’s just a few minutes before I got home.  
  
I pressed a button in the control panel set on the wall at the foot of the stairs. “Come in. I’m downstairs.”  
  
I heard him storm in. He didn’t bother to turn on the lights. While Abby and I had been married Gibbs had been a frequent visitor; he knew the way to the exercise room. I walked back to the center of the floor and waited.  
  
“McGee!” He came down the stairs two steps at a time, as usual. “What the hell is this?”  
  
I studied the piece of paper in his hand. “I believe it’s my letter of resignation. I told you to expect one.”  
  
The wind seemed to be momentarily knocked out of him. He stopped in midstride, glancing down at the letter and then back up at me. “I thought you would have more fight than this, McGee,” he whispered.  
  
“I do. In fact, I was bred to do just that. Outfight, outthink, outguess, and outplan. I can fight legions for you, Jethro. I just can’t fight you.”  
  
“It all seems so easy for you…”  
  
The rush of anger had me in motion before I even thought about it. I grabbed the lapels of Gibbs’s corduroy jacket and slammed him against the nearest wall.  
  
“Easy? Easy to stand behind you for years, guarding you, never getting more than a look or a smack? Hoping for a smile or a _well done McGee_ as if I were a puppy and not the Heir to the Keeper of the Wards of the Winter King? The day I was born my father received nine offers of alliance! God! And then, when I find out you do feel something for me, it’s just to be pushed away because you’re afraid for your masculinity?” I dropped my glamour and let him See me. “I…. fuck it.”  
  
I smashed my mouth against his, without gentleness or finesse. His muscles tensed and for a moment I thought he was going to push me away, but then, amazingly, his hands came up to cradle the back of my head. He took control of the kiss, holding me in place with his hands and the angle of his head, his tongue sweeping into my open mouth and tangling with mine. My hands fell to his waist almost of their own volition, gripping, kneading, as I pressed my hips against his and let him feel my erection.  
  
His head came up and he stared into my eyes. I waited, holding my breath. After a few moments, his whole body seemed to sag as he pressed his forehead against mine. “Don’t let me get cold feet.”  
  
I grabbed his hand and pulled him upstairs as fast as I could. By the time we got to the bedroom we were laughing like two kids playing hooky. He reached for the light switch but I stopped him, taking his hand and pressing it to my cheek, feeling the shiver that ran through him.  
  
I felt for the box of long matches I kept on the dresser. Striking one, I lit the candles in the four-armed Georgian silver candelabra Ducky had given Abby and I as a wedding gift. The soft glow illuminated the navy blue silk comforter and pillows, but kept the rest in shadows. Gibbs looked at me and then at the bed.  
  
“Last chance,” I said, stepping back.  
  
Gibbs closed his eyes and took in a huge mouthful of air, as if drawing courage into himself. Then, opening his eyes, he smiled as he took off his jacket and pulled the sweater underneath over his head. He toed off his shoes and pulled off his socks.  
  
“There. We’re even now.”  
  
I shook my head, grinning at him. “Nope. You’ve got underwear under the jeans.”  
  
“I do? You sure about that, McGee?”  
  
I reached for his belt buckle. “One way to find out.” I pulled off the belt and undid the fly. He was, in fact, wearing underwear. “Tighty whities. I had you pegged for a boxers sort of guy.”  
  
“Nah. Fabric gets caught on zippers.”  
  
I laughed, pushing down on the jeans and the underwear until he was naked and I could see him for the first time. He was long and lean and muscular. A soft mat of salt-and-pepper curly hair on his upper chest narrowed to a single line that went past his belly button and down to his groin, where it widened again. I ran my hands lightly across his shoulders and then down, circling my thumbs on either side of that single line of hair until I reached his pubic bone. He hissed softly.  
  
“Now you’re the overdressed one,” he said.  
  
“So fix it.”  
  
He pulled on the string holding the sweat pants on my waist and giving the fabric an assisting tug when it hung on my hips. I stepped out of them when they hit the floor.  
  
“You don’t have any body hair,” he said as he tried to mimic my actions. “It’s more like… down. Feathery.”  
  
The feel of his hands sliding on my skin sent shivers down my back. “It’s a race thing.”  
  
We were both hard, and our breaths were starting to hitch as arousal intensified each touch. I took his hand and pulled him to the bed. He lay down and scooted over to make a space for me.  
  
“I don’t know what I’m doing,” he said. “I mean, I know what I makes me howl, but…”  
  
I leaned down and kissed him, pressing him into the pillows. “We’ll figure it out as we go along.”


	16. Chapter 16

The man was a snuggler.  
  
Not that I minded. I liked waking up with someone wrapped around me in the classic nestling spoons position, legs tangled, warm breath stirring the hairs on the back of my neck. Especially when his hands were flat against my stomach, holding me tightly against a rather aggressive morning erection.  
  
“Awake?”  
  
“Ummm,” I kept my eyes closed. “We need to get to the office soon.”  
  
“It's early yet.”  
  
“We should be....”  
  
“It's cold and dark outside, McGee.” He maneuvered until we were facing each other. “And it's nice and warm in this bed.”  
  
He kissed me. Sometime during the night he had shed a number of inhibitions. Once we were in bed he had thrown himself into the experience like a college kid diving off the cliffs in Acapulco on a dare. I had known he was a passionate man – he invested everything he did with passion – but I hadn’t known he was also a thoroughgoing sensualist. He loved to smell, touch, taste, to take control and submit in turn, to explore every inch of a lover's body and give himself over for exploration. Making love to Gibbs had been a revelation.  
  
I leaned into the kiss, running my hand down his back to cup his ass and press his belly against mine. He bit into my shoulder, licked the slight sting away, then started to suck.  
  
“Thank God for shirts and ties,” I whispered in his ear. “Otherwise everyone will know what we've been up to.”  
  
He chuckled. “You think they won't know the moment they look at us?”  
  
He reached between us and fisted our cocks together, setting up a friction that made me mewl as I wrapped my legs over this thighs and held on to his ass. He grinned triumphantly and started to move, his mouth returning to the red spot on my shoulder. His tongue licked over it gently then ran up my neck to my jaw and then on to my mouth. I made a grab for it with my own but he pulled away licking back down to suck at my ear lobe.   
  
“I love your ears.” He licked along the rim to the tip so he could lick and bite at it. “They're just like...”  
  
“Don't you dare,” I growled. “Not one.... oh god, Jethro... not one word.”  
  
He laughed deep in his throat and moved faster. I reached between his buttocks to stroke my fingers along his furrow, opening him slightly so I could rub my finger over his entrance. He threw his head back, bellowing, and I felt him spurt all over my stomach. It was enough to send me into a long spasm, muscles straining, until I emptied myself.  
  
“God almighty,” Jethro gasped as he collapsed on top of me. “Tell me why I waited so long to do this.”  
  
I laughed. “Because you are a stubborn, annoying man who never does what's good for him until he has exhausted all other possibilities.”  
  
I had meant it as a joke, but he stared at me thoughtfully. “There might be something to that,” he admitted, and dropped his head back on my shoulder.  
  
One of the phones on the night stand rang. Sometime in the middle of the night I had retrieved them from the living room and put them within easy reach; in spite of anything personal we we still on duty until Ziva and Tony were found. Gibbs reached for it, eyes still closed, and answered it.  
  
“Gibbs.”  
  
Abby's voice came through loud and clear. “Gibbs, what are you doing answering Tim's phone?”  
  
“Answering it, Abby,” he said impatiently. “Is anything wrong?”  
  
“Ah... not any more, Jethro.” I could hear the suppressed laughter in her voice. “Tell McGee you're both expected in the lab. I think we know where they're keeping Ziva and Tony.” There was a pause. “No, don't bother, Ducky. Gibbs is with Tim. Yeah, oh. Let me talk to Tim a minute, Jethro.”  
  
He passed the phone over, rolling his eyes at me. I was grinning from ear to ear. “Yes, Abby.”  
  
“I will expect details. Very detailed details.”  
  
“Why don't we just wait until you can see for yourself? It's no fun if you're only getting the play-by-play second hand.”  
  
“Bastard. Get your asses over here right now. We'll discuss it once we have Ziva and Tony back.”  
  
I closed the call and handed the phone back to Gibbs. “Grab a shower while I make coffee.”  
  
He dropped the phone and took my hand. “You are serious about this you, me, Abby thing.”  
  
I reminded myself that Jethro was very new at this. “Yes. I think it's because of my parents. Marriage is forever among my people, Jethro, but we live a long time. Married people can go their separate ways for centuries at the time, keeping in touch only for family business and great occasions. But there are a few that find lasting contentment. My father found it with my mothers. When you see them together, there's a certainty about them... I always wanted that for myself. I've had a few close, loving relationships, but never something I was so certain about as I am about you and Abby.”  
  
He stared at me for a few moments, then leaned in and kissed me. There was a confirmation, an acceptance, in the chaste little pressure of closed lips, and it made me want to jump up in the air and pump my fist. He pulled back and gave me the good old Gibbs grin.  
  
“So I'm going to have to get your parents' seal of approval?”  
  
“Nope. My King's,” I paused briefly. “And his Consort, of course.” The look on Gibbs's face was enough to make me howl with laughter. “Shower, Jethro. We'll figure out a way to get around Jack when we have to.”  
  
I would keep the news of Jack's notoriously romantic nature to myself for a little while. Keeping Gibbs on his toes was always the best possible course of action.


	17. Chapter 17

We had barely opened the lab’s door when Gibbs found himself with an armful of Abby. She wrapped her arms around his neck while babbling a mile a minute.  
  
“I’m so glad, I’m so glad, you two are made for each other, and you never realized until now and this is so cool, my two best…”  
  
Gibbs took the easy way out and stopped the flood by kissing her. Well, more like devouring. It confirmed something I had suspected for a long time: Gibbs’s usual treatment of Abby as an annoying kid sister was a cover for other feelings. Now that he knew he didn’t have to keep her at arm’s length, he could indulge them.  
  
When they both surfaced the babble started again. “We’re going to have to figure out living arrangements, because Tim is too far away from Georgetown and we can’t live at your place…”  
  
“Your turn,” Gibbs said, passing Abby over. So I did. And while I was kissing her, I reached out and grasped Gibbs hand. As our fingers intertwined, thunder rolled across the blue, cloudless sky.   
  
“What the hell was that?” Gibbs asked.  
  
“Confirmation,” I gasped as I freed my mouth. Abby grinned at me. She had had a basic education on Tylwyth magick, and she knew what it meant. “I’ll explain later.”  
  
“Perhaps that would be best,” Ianto’s amused voice had us turning towards the door. “And perhaps you could, ah, let go? It could cause a great deal of gossip if the head of NCIS is spotted holding hands with his forensic consultant and one of his senior agents.”  
  
“They'll stop talking sooner or later,” said Jack with cheerful malice. “Look at us.”  
  
“Jack, they've never stopped talking about us.”  
  
Jack shrugged. “Oh, well. Then Gibbs will have to learn to live with it, won't he?” He took Abby's right hand and tugged her away from us. “You have something for us, Gorgeous Abigail?”  
  
I saw it coming but wasn’t fast enough to stop it. I winced as Gibbs's hand shot out and slapped Jack on the back of the head.  
  
“Hey! What was that for?” The Consort threw a dirty look in our direction.  
  
“You've got your own.” Gibbs said. “Leave mine alone.”  
  
Jack smiled the most deliciously lascivious smile I had ever seen in the face of a human being. If I hadn't been so sure of my own feelings I would have been seriously tempted. From her sudden stillness, I could tell Abby had gotten the same message. “And are you so sure of their feelings, Director?”  
  
Gibbs smiled back, but this one had knives in it. “I'm completely sure of my own.”  
  
Jack grinned and handed Abby back with a quaint little bow. “Then all is well. We will hold the celebration next Solstice. Our Master of Ceremonies will be in touch.”  
  
My sputtering was lost in the loud roll of thunder overhead. Abby smiled happily at me over Gibbs's shoulder. We had just gotten engaged, and it had been accepted and witnessed, and Gibbs didn't have the least idea of what the Winter Consort had set in motion. I didn't know how the hell I was going to explain it.  
  
“So what do you have for us, Abby?” I said, just so neither Gibbs nor Jack had a chance to start all over again.   
  
“Roberta and I worked all day yesterday. I have to tell you, McGee, if we could figure out how she does it we could make a fortune. I'm going to introduce her to Jake, you know, the perfume guy upstairs from me because she's wasting her life as a secretary, and...”  
  
“Abbs,” Gibbs cut through the monologue, “did you bring me down here just so you could tell me about your plans for your new best friend?”  
  
“Gibbs, did I ever do that to you? Don't answer that,” she said hurriedly, fingers flying over the keyboard in front of her. “But not this time. Roberta identified the smell as a mixture of, and I quote, waste oil, paint, burnt steel, and body waste.”  
  
“Drydock facilities,” Gibbs said immediately.   
  
“Bingo. However, Roberta also identified other components to the smell, including powdered granite and cement.” A map appeared on the large screen over her head. “This is Drydock Number One at the Norfolk Naval Shipyard. A lot of people confuse the Naval Base with the yard, but they are two separate entities. Drydock Number One at the shipyard is a National Historic Landmark as the earliest drydock in the United States. It was built from Massachusetts granite. Until recently, it was still a working facility. However, it is currently closed while being converted to a teaching museum of naval history.”  
  
“McGee…”  
  
“On it, boss.” I grabbed for the keyboard and logged into my own system, pulling up Zigler’s file. Ellen had been very thorough. “Zigler’s brother-in-law owns a construction company that has a contract for work on the Drydock One buildings. They started five weeks ago.”  
  
“Direct access to the open ocean, and to the base,” Jack said. “It would be a perfect base of operations for Silurians.”  
  
“But what could they want?” Gibbs asked, frustration plain in his voice. “The sailors in the Truman just wanted to make money, and they probably bribed Zigler to look the other way. But why are the Silurians getting involved? And why are the sailors working with them?”  
  
“Maybe they have been... whatever it is Roberta can do.” Abby waved her hands about. “Influenced.”  
  
“Maybe. On the other hand,” Ianto said, “it wouldn't be the first time humans have thrown their lot with the enemies of humankind. Money, power, and love are all good motivators.”  
  
“So, Director, do we go after Zigler now?” Jack asked.  
  
Gibbs nodded. “We go after Zigler now.”


	18. Chapter 18

Commander Zigler was a stocky man with the bad attitude that short men and officers that climbed their way from the enlisted ranks seem to carry about like an extra stripe on the shoulder boards. He stared at Gibbs almost daring him to do something.

“He's very certain that he will win,” Roberta whispered. “Or at least that Director Gibbs won't be able to charge him with anything.”

We were standing behind the one-way mirror in the observation room. Roberta had her hand on the glass. Her eyes were closed and she was frowning slightly as she concentrated.

“He knows where your people are. He hates knowing. He would much rather not be involved with this, but he likes the money.” She lifted her hand with a jerk as if she had been burned. “He has... unusual... sexual tastes. Expensive.”

Jack's smile sent a shiver down my back. “Men like that are brittle. They are very certain of their prerogatives, but also terrified of their secrets.” He looked at me. “How good is your Director at this?”

“Best I've ever seen.”

“Zigler will last about ten minutes, then.”

In the interrogation room, Gibbs stared silently at Zigler, and the Commander stared back. I had seen that before, and it always ended the same way. Sure enough, in a few minutes Zigler started to squirm.

“What the hell am I doing here, Gibbs?” He thrust his chin out belligerently. “Shouldn't you be looking for Ziva's killers?”

“That's why you're here, Commander.”

The vein on Zigler's temple throbbed. “You suspect me?”

“Of killing her? No. You couldn't have killed her, because that thing in my morgue isn't Ziva.” He opened the folder in front of him and lined up four photographs in front of Zigler. “The two on the left are of the Silurian your friends killed... Surprised that we know? The ones on the right are of the piece of offal they tried to pass off as Ziva David. Lousy job, Zigler. Even I can see the differences.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You’ve got nothing on me.”

“Maybe not. But I do have a whole team of very clever computer geeks and I turned them lose on you this morning. By dinner time they’re going to know you in ways even your dear sainted mother didn’t.” Gibbs picked up the photos. “Perhaps even in ways you’d rather she never found out about. You have secrets, Zigler, and by the time we get through with you, we’ll have you naked in front of the reflecting basin at lunch time. I wonder what your family will say.”

“He’s a touch psychic,” Ianto whispered in my ear. “Or a really excellent judge of character.”

“Both.”

I watched as Gibbs stood up and started to leave the room, only to turn back at the last minute. “What I don’t get is how you could get involved with this bunch of losers. Taking a little cash to look the other way when they brought in stuff, ok, I can see it. But getting involved in kidnapping and murdering federal agents on behalf of a bunch of lizards? Did you really think the U.S. government didn’t know about them?”

“Showtime,” I said to Roberta.

We went to stand by the door of the interrogation room to wait for our signal. We had discussed this until we were all sure of our roles. I waited for the knock, then opened the door and ushered Roberta in.

“This is Roberta Lehman.” He gestured towards Zigler. “Would you demonstrate for the Commander?”

She nodded. Bracing herself slightly, she faced Zigler. I could feel the energy flow between them as she reached into his mind. Zigler scrambled out of the chair, flinging himself backwards to crash against the far wall, hands pressing into the paint so hard I could see chips peeling off. Gibbs waited a few more minutes and then tapped Roberta on the shoulder gently.

She nodded shyly at him. “They're at the Drydock site. One level below ground.”

“She's one of them!” Zigler was choking on his own saliva. “What's she doing here? She's one of them!”

Gibbs grinned at him. “Nope. She's one of ours. Now that she's told me what I need to know, I can just throw your ass in jail for smuggling and aiding and abetting the kidnapping of NCIS agents. Forget the pension, the little condo in Fort Lauderdale, and the Kingfisher workboat, Zigler.”

We turned to go. Zigler came off the wall as if shot from a cannon. “Wait! Hold on!” He collapsed on the chair. “Can we make a deal?”

“What for? Roberta probably got everything she needed off your head.”

“No. No. There's something else.” His hands were shaking so badly that he had to grip his knees to make them still. “Something to trade.”

Gibbs sat back down. “All right. Tell me.”

“When they went to dump the body… the Ziva thing… they left a briefcase behind. I looked in it. There was this sheet of paper with a map, I couldn't tell what it was, but I made a copy and hid it.”

“Where?”

“Oh no, Gibbs.” Zigler was trying for an imitation of his usual cocky self and he was failing miserably. “I want my deal.”

“On the basis of what? One piece of paper that might have the GPS coordinates to the local alligator watering hole?” Gibbs picked up his folder. “Never mind. I'll just turn you over to Roberta. She'll take it from your mind.”

Zigler deflated completely. “All right, all right. It's in my brother in law's work trailer at Drydock Number One. I put it in his receipt file. He never looks at those until the job is over.”

“Is your brother in law in on this?”

“Naw. He's all business, that one.”

Gibbs stood up abruptly. “Maybe you should have learned something from him. All right Zigler. We're going to go get our people. If they're alive and if that piece of paper means something, you'll get your deal...”

He broke off as Jack and Ianto entered the room. Jack was carrying a glass of water. “I have a better idea.”

Gibbs stiffened, but then thought better of it. “Yes?”

Jack put a small pill in front of Zigler. “Drink this.”

“Are you crazy?”

Jack grinned. “Possibly. But not this time. You're in shit up to your hips, Commander. Neither one of our governments want people walking around with knowledge of the existence of Silurians, so you have two choices. One is to take that little pill and forget all you know. And the second... well, at our end of the pond we have this convenient way of handling people like you. You'll go to jail at His Majesty's pleasure, Zigler, and Charles is a tough old bastard. You might come out when you're ninety nine or so.”

Zigler stared at him, then nearly jumped at Gibbs. “You're going to let him do that?”

Gibbs shrugged. “Nothing I can do. There are all sorts of diplomatic agreements covering crimes of this sort, and we would never endanger our special relationship with the Brits. You're enough of a Navy man to know that.”

Zigler shook his head, but he knew it was hopeless. He picked up the pill and placed it in his mouth. Jack offered him the water. “Drink up, Zigler. When you next wake up, you'll be a whole new man.”

We watched as Zigler seemed to drop into a deep sleep almost immediately. Then Roberta turned to Gibbs, hands on hips. “ _Alligator watering hole_?”


	19. Chapter 19

Jethro pointed at the open bulkhead door at the end of the corridor and waggled his hand at me. I shook my head. There weren't any Silurians hiding in the warren of rooms beyond. In fact, I couldn't Sense anyone at all in the place other than ourselves.   
  
Getting into Drydock Number One had been easy, maybe too easy. The perimeter fence's only lock had taken me less than a minute to open. Beyond that, piles of construction supplies and equipment hid nothing more dangerous than a few hungry mice. The locks on the building itself were a little more complicated, but not enough to slow us down.   
  
It was a two-pronged assault. Jethro and I and a squad of marines used the improvised helipad the construction company had set up right outside the gates. Jack, Ianto, Roberta and a few of her relatives were coming by boat, right under the nose of the Navy patrols. Jack and Jethro had nearly come to blows over the inclusion of the Silurians until Ianto had stepped in and asked Jethro very, very reasonably if he was willing to risk his men being taken over by Silurian mind control. Jethro had backed off but the relations between the Head of Torchwood and the Director of NCIS remained a little frosty.   
  
Jethro signaled to the marines and they spread out, sweeping the rooms for hostiles. The all clear was given fairly quickly, but I wasn’t convinced. There was something about the whole set up that raised my hackles. I spun around slowly, staring at the walls.   
  
“Are you all right?” Gibbs whispered.   
  
“Not really. Something is not right here. Hold on a minute.”   
  
I closed my eyes and sent my Senses ranging, as my father had taught me, looking for the King's enemies. This was a basic function of our duty and I had learned to Search before I learned to walk.   
  
It didn't take long to find. On Search, steel shows up as dull silver with a bitter tang in the back of the throat. One side of the corridor was pure metal, but the other side had a human-sized brown stain in one corner. I Pushed against it, and heard one of the Marines swear as a door appeared where a metal plate had been a few minutes before.   
  
“That's an useful trick,” Jethro drawled. “Anything else?”   
  
I sent my Sight through the door. “They're inside. Come on!”   
  
We ran in ahead of the Marines, who were not happy to have two civilians take the lead in an operation. I had never met a Marine who didn't think of the rest of the world as civilians to be protected, even a highly decorated retired Marine like Gibbs.   
  
The room was small and windowless, but there was enough light to see the two bodies thrown carelessly into a bunk on the far side. The smell of human blood flooded my wide-open Senses and I shut them down enough to keep it from overpowering my perception. But I could still feel two hearts beating, very faintly, but still beating.   
  
“They're alive,” I said to Jethro. “But just hanging on.”   
  
Jethro stared down at the bodies for a minute before crouching by the bed. Ziva was lying with her face buried in Tony’s chest, and his arms were wrapped around her tightly. He brushed her hair gently off her cheek.   
  
“We need to get them to a hospital right now.”   
  
“Sir!” The captain in charge of the Marine squad saluted. “We have a medivac standing by. They can be here in ten minutes.”   
  
“They might not have that much,” I said, probing for life signs. “Jethro, do you have that coin Jack gave you?”   
  
He gave me an uncomprehending look, but rooted around in his pants pocket and handed it over. I turned to the Captain.   
  
“Captain, please ask your men to wait outside.” I waited until they had left, then continued. “What you are about to see is so classified that even considering the possibility of talking about it would qualify as treason. Do we understand each other?”   
  
At his nod, I held out the coin and squeezed it tightly. There was a rush of displaced air and Marigold popped into the room. Under other circumstances I would have been amused by the Captain’s startled little squeak.   
  
“Marigold, our friends need medical care….”   
  
She nodded. “Your Healer has made arrangements. We shall take them where he lives.”   
  
Jethro stood up. “They need a hospital!”   
  
She gave him a hard look, but then relented. “Your friends are almost gone, my Lord. We can help, but your human hospitals are full of cold iron and our magicks are lessened.”   
  
I stepped closer. “Jethro?”   
  
He shrugged. “They’re your people. If you trust them, so do I.”   
  
I nodded at her. “Go ahead, Marigold.”   
  
“By your leave, Arweinyd’rhyfel.”   
  
She sang a long phrase in the language of the bachgen’in. A few seconds later several Small Ones wearing the colors of Winter appeared in the room. They pulled the bunk away from the wall without any difficulty, then stood around it, blocking our view. There was a sound like a vast choir humming deep in its massed throats; the Captain rubbed his temples and even Jethro seemed to twitch a little. As the sound reached its highest peak, they all disappeared.   
  
“Were they…” The captain kept looking at us then at the spot where the bachgen’in had been. “The Aes Sidhe?”   
  
“Nope,” Jethro pointed at me. “He’s Aes Sidhe. They’re the Little People.”   
  
I glared at Jethro, but dropped my Glamour for a minute. The captain’s eyes grew even wider, then he threw his head back and laughed.   
  
“And I can’t even tell my ma.”   
  
“Captain O’Shea, you can’t even tell yourself where you could be overheard. Nach dtuigeann tú?”   
  
“Tuigim, mo prionsa.” He laughed again. “What next?”   
  
“Now we go find the ones who did this to our people,” Jethro said. “Can you sense anything, Tim?”   
  
It didn’t take me long. Destroying the first illusion seemed to have ended their ability to block my Sensing. Whoever they were.   
  
“Two levels down, closer to the water.” I sent directions to Ianto and got back a quick thanks, “I’ve told the others.”   
  
“Good. Come on.”   
  
We ran down the stairs, making no effort to conceal ourselves. There’s a very precise psychic noise generated by the dissolution of a Glamour of the kind used to hide that room. Whoever had cast it had known the moment I broke through.   
  
As we reached the lowest level we met Jack and Ianto and their group. Roberta seemed to be leading; she was tight-lipped, and a small vein on the side of her neck throbbed visibly. She pointed towards a narrow corridor. Jack made a hand signal, and the other Silurians mingled with the marines. At a second signal, they all faced the corridor and started projecting. It was completely noiseless to human ears, but I could Sense wave upon wave of energy slamming against the walls of the corridor. It was totally unlike what I could do, but in its own way just as powerful.   
  
Slowly, the walls began dissolving, revealing a large room. Several stations were arranged in a semi-circle around a larger central one. Against the wall, several human-sized capsules fitted with what seemed like oxygen tanks and connected by fiber optic cable to one of the stations hummed quietly.   
  
Before anyone could stop her, Roberta gave a small bleat of distress and started forward. Jethro lunged for her, but he was too late. As she entered the room, a Silurian rose from behind one of the stations, pointing a large switch-studded cylinder at her. Jack moved faster than I had ever seen anyone move, even a Tylwyth Teg, pushing her out of the way. The light beam from the cylinder struck him full in the chest, and he collapsed.   



	20. Chapter 20

“Don't shoot!”   
  
Ianto's voice carried not only the authority of a man used to command, but the full power of the Winter King. It stopped us all in our tracks.   
  
“Captain O'Shea, take your men and clear out this level. Bring everyone you find here. Roberta, assign one of your people to each fire team. Block any attempt to insert illusions into the marine's minds. Captain, I know it's against your training, but you must stay here and stand guard.”   
  
O'Shea looked like he had been asked to bite the heads off live chickens, but he nodded and barked out directions. The marines and their Silurian companions fanned out while Jethro, O'shea, and I stood watch over the Winter King and his Consort.   
  
Ianto knelt and pulled Jack's body across his lap. “You know, cariad,” he whispered in Jack's ear, “we're going to have a long conversation about this habit of yours of jumping into the line of fire every time someone is in danger. One of these days you're going to run out of lives...”   
  
The monologue continued, too low for Jethro and O'Shea to hear. They both looked at Ianto in horror and a great deal of pity. I held my tongue; I had heard things about Jack, things so wild and hard to believe that I couldn't bring myself to speak them out loud. All I could do was wait and see.   
  
A few minutes passed, and the whispered monologue continued. Finally Jethro couldn't stand it any longer. He reached for Ianto... just in time to see Jack take a deep, gasping breath and open his eyes. He jumped back like a scalded cat, looking at me with wild eyes.   
  
“What the hell?”   
  
“Holy... it's true, then.” I waved my hand in Jack's approximate direction. “We had heard rumors... But I didn't believe them, not really.”   
  
O'Shea was staring at Jack. His hands gripped his rifle so hard his knuckles were turning white. “Sir?”   
  
Ianto helped Jack to his feet. The Torchwood director was pale but there were no signs of damage. He smiled at us, a pale version of his usually cheeky smile.   
  
“Sorry,” he said to the room in general.   
  
“I saw you hit by something that looked like a laser beam. You had a hole in your chest. I thought you were dead. The Consort of the Winter King dead on our watch!” Jethro's voice was steady but I could hear the anger rising underneath. “I don't think sorry covers it.”   
  
“I had this accident a few years ago, and it left me unable to stay dead.” Jack shrugged. “Captain O'Shea, we have put you and your men hip deep in it, haven't we?”   
  
O'Shea gave something resembling both a bow and a salute, but his eyes were fixed on Ianto. “The Winter King?”   
  
Jack laughed. “And that impresses you more than my immortality. You Celts are all alike.” He stepped away from Ianto and walked towards the center of the room, where the shooter was being held by three Marines and one of the human-Silurians. “Let him go, please.”   
  
The Silurian stood calmly, observing Jack with as much curiosity as Jack was observing him. Nearly seven feet tall, he towered over Jack, but to my Senses he seemed fragile. His skin was worn smooth in some places, and its grayish tone implied ill health rather than protective coloration. The ear plates were dull white, and its eye slits were nearly shut. He smelled of death.   
  
“I'm Captain Jack Harkness. We need to talk.”   
  
“There is nothing to say,” At any other time the high-pitched voice that emerged from the round mouth would have been amusing. “We have lost. You will kill us all, as you have done before.”   
  
“I’m not going to get into ancient history with you. It’s your current crimes I’m concerned about. You participated in a smuggling operation. You kidnapped two federal agents. You murdered...”   
  
“No!” The Silurian reared back to full height. “We did not murder anyone. All we wanted is the technology to do what the other clan has done. We offered them artifacts in exchange for transportation here and help in setting up this place.”   
  
“Silence!”   
  
The roar made us turn. Three Silurians were being marched into the room. One of them was struggling with his guards. It was he who had shouted. He seemed older than the others. The skin was gray and smooth throughout, and the ear plates were worn and nicked around the edges. I could feel the waves of energy coming off his third eye, but they bounced off harmlessly from the shield the Roberta's people had set up around him.   
  
The Silurian Jack had been talking to turned on him. “Why? Do you have yet another master plan? Considering how well all your other plans have worked, perhaps throwing ourselves on this man's mercy would be our best step.”   
  
“Mercy? From humans?”   
  
“These are not humans!” The very human snort that accompanied the retort would have been funny in other circumstances. “That one over there,” he pointed at me, “is as nonhuman as it is possible. His mind is like ours, yet not, and like a human’s, yet not. This one here,” he pointed at Ianto, “has a human mind, yet it holds so much power he could destroy us all. And this one,” he pointed at Jack, “seems human but his mind is powered by an energy so vast it makes the sun look like a child’s light-stick!”   
  
“It does not matter! We are the First Ones and this world is ours by right. Negotiating with…. food animals is demeaning!”   
  
“And using your own people as experimental subjects is better?” Roberta pointed at the capsules. “You could just have asked for our help!”   
  
“I don't think he believes you would listen,” Jack said. “Not after you found out who they were.”   
  
“No! Please!” The Silurian who had shot Jack pleaded with him. “Don't!”   
  
Roberta frowned. “Why wouldn't we listen?”   
  
“A friend of mine was traveling with Charles Darwin and the crew of the Beagle when they encountered a Silurian group hiding in the Galapagos Islands. The leader of the group had experimented with his food animals and in the process accidentally developed certain functions that would ultimately lead to intelligence. The leader knew if his clan folk found out he would be executed, so he sabotaged their stasis chambers and fled with his followers. The leader died in the Galapagos, but some of his followers escaped.” Jack pushed a few buttons on his wrist strap. “Darwin did some drawings of them.”   
  
The image that floated above his wrist may have been quarter-sized, but the details were a clear match to the Silurians in front of us. Roberta studied it for a moment and then turned to the Silurian who had shot Jack.   
  
“What is your name?”   
  
“I am Siarkhak. I am a geneticist.”   
  
“Are you? Do you think these,” she pointed to the capsules, “are proper science?”   
  
“It's the best I can do,” he said, half-way between defiance and shame. “We are dying! There's only twenty six of us left. My own mate has lost all our eggs. We need to do something!”   
  
“And we will.” Roberta touched his arm. “We wouldn’t hold your ancestors’ actions against you. But we need something in exchange.”   
  
“Siarkhak, be quiet!”   
  
“Or what, Asykh? We're done, old man. Our time is over. All we can do is hope to survive.” He turned to Roberta. “What do you want?”   
  
“One of the humans says that the when the body meant to resemble the woman you captured was left for NCIS to find, he saw a map. What was it?”   
  
“The smugglers wanted to know where to find more treasure. Asykh gave them access for some of our sites, but I do not know which ones.”   
  
Roberta turned to the old Silurian. “Asykh?”   
  
“I have nothing to say to you.”   
  
“Yes, you do, old man.” The coldness in her voice made me wince. “I have the survival of your clan in the palm of my very human hand. Your pride or your brood, Asykh. Choose.”   
  
He held her eyes for a few minutes, then sagged in defeat. “I gave him a list of our weapons stores. I have been studying human history. If one human clan had Silurian weapons the other clans would want them too. They would attack each other until only a few were left.”   
  
“You wanted to set off World War III,” Jethro said harshly.   
  
“What does it matter now? You’ve won. You’ve stopped us.” His hands opened and closed as if trying for something beyond his reach. “We’re all dead.”   
  
“Not quite, Asykh,” Roberta said. “I can see your great age on you, old man. You will die. But your children will live. Maybe they will not rule the world, but they will live.”


	21. Chapter 21

The tall, elegant woman with the Commander stripes on her sleeves smiled at us. “Thank you for coming, gentlemen.”   
  
As if one refused the President of the United States. Although with Jack and Ianto one never could tell. No, with Jack one could never tell. Ianto would behave until it suited him.   
  
We followed her down a long corridor. Ianto led the way, followed by Jack, and then Jethro and I, slightly offstep, so we overlapped slightly. It took me a moment to realize it and then I had to swallow a snicker. Jethro and I had fallen into bodyguard positions. If anyone wanted to get to the King and His Consort, they would have to go through us.   
  
The commander opened a door and waved us in. The office was actually not very large but it looked just like in the movies. It reeked of the thing humans called power. Terrible and mighty actions had been discussed and ordered in this room and the ghosts still lingered.   
  
Two men and a woman were sitting on the sofas opposite the desk. As we entered, they turned to look at us. Not all the looks were friendly, but that didn’t matter. The important one was the man sitting behind the desk.   
  
There had been some tense back-and-forth between the Palace and the White House after we submitted our report. The President had not been happy about Torchwood’s “intrusion” into what should have been a highly-classified NCIS operation. The negotiations had gone on for two days and a settlement had been reached. We were just here to answer questions and, hopefully, soothe some feathers.   
  
“Captain Harkness. Welcome to the White House.” The President's voice had the gentle rhythm of his Gullah ancestors. “I am very glad to meet you at last.”   
  
“Mr. President.” Jack nodded. “May I introduce my partner, Ianto Jones. I'm sure you know your Director of NCIS and agent McGee.”   
  
“I do, yes.” He nodded at the two Secret Service men standing against the wall and they left, closing the door behind them. “ Please sit down.”   
  
Jethro and I moved automatically to flank Jack and Ianto, sitting on the chairs at either end of the couch. We waited a few seconds while Ianto sat down and then we followed suit. If the President noticed, he did not let it show.   
  
“It was a hell of a shock when my predecessor called the night before the inauguration and asked me to come over to the White House. He said it was tradition that one President would pass a certain piece of information to the next on that date, starting with the first President Roosevelt.” He grinned. “I nearly broke an ankle running over from Blair House. And what I got was the key to a very well hidden safe filled with a number of unbelievable documents, except that some people of unimpeachable probity vouched for them.”   
  
Jack held up a hand. “How far are we going to go with this, Mr. President?”   
  
The President shrugged. “I’ve given the people around this table a general overview, but no details. I understand the need for secrecy, Captain Harkness, but at least some of these things will have to be discussed, if only within these walls.”   
  
“You're probably right.” Jack said. “I think it's time Torchwood had an American branch anyway.”   
  
“I’d like to register my disagreement with this policy,” a gray haired man in an Army general's stars jumped in. “It's one thing for them to come over and give us some help, but setting up shop over here? We can take care of our own problems!”   
  
“Can you?” Jack's voice took on a decided edge. “Shall we discuss your near-miss with the hyperdrive of the Chula transport you recovered near Roswell? Or the disaster with the Krillitane interrogation techniques you tried to develop for use in Vietnam? No, wait. Let's just start with your Project Rainbow, shall we?”   
  
The President leaned forward. “Perhaps we can stable that discussion for the moment, Captain Harkness. Although since from the looks the general is giving you it seems my Joint Chiefs of Staff have decided to keep me in the dark about some important things, we will definitely return to it later. Right now, I'm interested in these Silurians of yours.”   
  
“Actually, they're your Silurians. They are Earth’s oldest sentient race.” A lot of thought had gone into that small phrase. “But to answer the unasked question, Roberta's great-grandmother was born here in seventeen ninety-two. That makes her and her descendents American citizens.”   
  
“Citizens!” The General snorted. “They're lizards!”   
  
“Technically,” Ianto murmured, “they are very distantly related to crocodiles. About the same as we are related to, say, lesser apes.”   
  
“Young man, this is no time for levity.” The Secretary of State rebuked him gently. “We humans have a tendency to fight over territory among ourselves. Trying to accommodate other races might prove an intractable problem.”   
  
“Silurians are a remnant population,” Jack explained. “Less than twenty-five thousand in the entire world. Although they are long lived, they have severe reproductive deficiencies. They don’t want anything from you, and especially not public acknowledgment. They want to be left alone to die in peace.”   
  
“You will have to admit,” the President said, “that trying to pass themselves off as human gives off a flavor of stealth invasion.”   
  
“You could also see it as a way to avoid negative attention,” Ianto pointed out. “Most of the Silurians’ encounters with humans have been disastrous for them.”   
  
The President made an acknowledging gesture. “It is hard to believe that another race has lived on Earth for millennia and we have never encountered them.”   
  
The decision had been made early on to keep the Tylwyth Teg out of sight, so Jack picked his way through the answer very carefully.   
  
“Silurians are not alien. They evolved in this planet before humans did. They may not be humans but they are most definitely terran.” He let some amusement show. “On the other hand, there are representatives of at least fourteen nonhuman races living on Earth at this particular moment. And you have almost certainly encountered at least one or two, if only in reception lines.”   
  
The looks he got ranged from the aghast to the intrigued. The last one came from the dark-haired, intense woman seated directly opposite from me. The President’s Science and Technology Advisor was notoriously interested in deep space exploration and the possibility of closer encounters.   
  
“And you keep an eye on all of them?” the President asked.   
  
“As best we can. Most of those who settle in are either refugees or scholars. Peaceful.”   
  
“But there are the other kind, too,” growled the General.   
  
“Yes.”   
  
The general turned to face his boss. “Mr. President, I must continue to insist that it would be serious mistake to trust the security of America to an organization that answers directly to a foreign power. We have to make the Brits turn over all information about these Silurians to us. We should also round up the Silurians and interrogate them ourselves.”   
  
The President shook his head. “I do not propose to thank those people for their efforts on behalf of the United States by tossing them into concentration camps, Joe. I understand your concerns regarding security and I think the King’s suggestion was a sensible one. Mr. Gibbs?”   
  
“Yes, Mr. President?”   
  
“I’m sorry to inform you that as of today you are no longer Acting Director of NCIS. You are now the head of Torchwood Washington. I believe you have some ideas about your team?”   
  
“Yes, sir. McGee’s unit at NCIS will transfer. So will Doctor James Palmer. And there’s a Captain O’Shea and a squad of Marines that might come in handy.” He nodded towards the Science and Technology Advisor. “And I suggest we report to you through Mrs. Allingham.”   
  
“Small enough to hide in plain sight and enough geeks on the staff to make everyone think it’s some sort of secret scientific project. I like it.” The President stood up. “Very well, gentlemen… and Mrs. Allingham. I think this takes care of the problem. Please remember that these matters are considered state secrets, and leaking anything to any member of the press is de facto and de jure treason. Captain Harkness, would you and your colleagues wait for a moment, please?”   
  
He waited until the others had filed out and then turned to us. “Now that we alone, gentlemen, let's lay our cards on the table. That reporting figleaf will help cover many a presidential ass in the future, but we all know Torchwood is not answerable to anyone. And we also know that I had absolutely no choice but to go along with this. I've read the documents in that safe over and over again. There's something coming, something terrible, and it will make or break the human race. Not today and not tomorrow and maybe not for a while, but it is coming. And I don't think all the weapons in all the world will make a difference. I just pray you will.”   
  
“You sound like a man who's had visions,” Ianto said quietly.   
  
“I hope not, Mr. Jones.” The President sighed. “But in any case I'm going to concentrate on keeping the human race from making too much of a mess. You will have to deal with the rest.”   
  
He sat down in the big chair behind the desk. It was dismissal, and we all accepted it with a sigh of relief. As we reached the door, Ianto turned back.   
  
“There's one thing you got wrong. We're answerable to something. Not anything as ephemeral as a single individual, or even a Royal line.” He smiled gently. I felt Energy flow towards the President and I Sensed the strength it carried. “We're answerable to the Earth itself. And she doesn't accept excuses


	22. Chapter 22

I stared at myself in the mirror and Drustan ap Madog stared back at me. I wore my Clan's colors, brown tunic and pants with silver piping, with the ermine's head embroidered on the collar. The Heir's circlet that I had accidentally-on-purpose forgotten to bring had been delivered by morning by a Small One named Pansy, with a pointed note from the King regarding my duties and responsibilities. Jethro had been immensely amused until another Small One showed up, carrying a complete outfit and another circlet for him. The note accompanying it was from Jack: _you took him on, you took everything that came with him. Deal with it_.  
  
I studied the circlet. It was made of three flat pieces of silver shaped like waning moons, held together with three large dark red garnets. It had been placed on my cradle three days after my birth, and family legend had it that I had grasped it and wouldn't let it go until one of my aunts had exchanged it for a silver rattle. Now it sat right on my brow, the garnets disappearing into my hair so all that showed were the three silver crescents. Seeing myself like this made me realize Jack had been right. This was who and what I was, and the idea, even the suggestion, that Jethro wouldn’t be able to deal with it suddenly terrified me.  
  
A soft knock on the door pulled me back into the here and now. Jethro would deal just fine; if there was one thing I had learned over the years it was that once he committed to something he stuck to it no matter what.  
  
“Enter,” I said, using the familiar yidh y Tylwyth construction. After all, I was home.  
  
Ducky walked in, resplendent in a bespoke tuxedo. After our encounter with the Silurians, while Jethro, Abby, and I were arguing about where to live, Ducky had gone into a huddle with Jack and Ianto and then presented us with a fait accompli. The beautiful house in the Alexandria suburbs was signed over to us, furnished, and Ducky had packed his bags and moved into Carn Llechart. To hear Lady Achren’s good-natured grumble, Grandpa Ducky had taken over the joint.  
  
“How are you holding up, Timothy?”  
  
“Fine, I guess.” I saw Ducky’s amused smile, and groaned. “Who am I kidding? I’m a nervous wreck. How’s Abby? Where’s Jethro?”  
  
Ducky valiantly managed to subdue himself. “Abby is in Lady Achren’s apartments, together with as many ladies as could be crammed inside. I’m told it’s beginning to resemble what the fashionable Regency folk called a crush. It’s female time over there, and God protect the hapless male who blunders in.”  
  
“And Jethro? Who’s keeping him company?”  
  
Ducky gave me a look of pure deviltry. “Jack.”  
  
“Holy Mother, Ducky!” I yelped. “We’re getting married in two hours. I want Jethro in one piece!”  
  
“Stop worrying, Timothy. Jack will behave. He knows how much Ianto wants this marriage to happen.” He kept a straight face for a few seconds, then patted me on the shoulder, smirking just a little. “Tony and Mr. Palmer are there also, as well as Rhys and Andrew.”  
  
“Thank goodness.” I poured myself a splash of wine. “And they sent you to keep me company?”  
  
“Exactly. Ianto has been delayed, but he'll be here soon.”  
  
“Who's minding the store?”  
  
“John and Ieuan are on Hub duty. O'Shea called Jethro earlier. Everything is fine in Washington, too. Stop jumping about, Timothy. And don't sit down!” He reproved. “Let's keep you pressed and neat until after the ceremony, shall we?”  
  
A soft displacement in the air announced the arrival of the Winter King. Within Carn Llechart, only three people had the authority to use the Paths: the King, his Consort, and the Keeper of the Wards. If it had been anyone but them, the ermine heads on the collars of the Keeper's knights would start to yip softly and the whole place would have shut down tighter than the Tower of London after closing time.  
  
“Sorry I'm late,” Ianto said. “How's our groom, Ducky?”  
  
“Only about as bad as you were.”  
  
“That bad? Shall we send for something strong to settle his nerves?”  
  
“I'm afraid that will not be possible,” Ducky was looking at his watch. “Time to go get you married, Timothy.”  
  
We headed downstairs to meet my parents and our immediate family. By tradition the groom's retinue left from the King's Tower and the bride's from the Consort's Tower, but in our case, Jethro had been accommodated in the Consort's Tower and Abby in the Holly Court. Everything else was absolutely by the book, by Lady Achren's – not to mention my mothers' – insistence. The three processions would meet in the central courtyard of the upper ward and then pass through the Holly Gate on the way to the Winter Hall in the Lower Ward, where the ceremony would take place.  
  
The courtyard outside the towers was filled with relatives and friends. Everyone carried small bouquets of yellow and orange Welsh poppies and Queen Anne's lace. As I stepped out, they cheered and applauded. I tried to stay with the crowd, but Ianto planted his hand in the middle of my back and shoved me forward.  
  
I led the way down towards the fountain at the center of the courtyard. As the crowd parted, I saw Jethro coming down the path on the opposite side. He was wearing an outfit similar to mine, but his collar was embroidered with the Torchwood logo. I had to fight down a giggle as I saw he was wearing his circlet. Tony, Jimmy Palmer, Jack, Rhys, and the Summer King and his Consort walked behind him, together with Rhy's wife, Martha, a stunning woman who seemed to have her own escort of Small Ones, and Martha's sister Tish and her husband. A bevy of kids brought up the rear. Somehow I wasn't surprised to see that Jack had given Jethro a proper retinue.  
  
We met in front of the fountain. Jethro was solemn as he reached out to take my hand. Our fingers intertwined as we turned to face the massive gates of the Holly Court, the oldest building in Carn Llechart.  
  
A flourish of pipes sounded and voices rose in the traditional wedding hymn as the gates swung open. Jack and Ianto's daughters stepped out, wearing silver-embroidered green llaeswisgs, unbelted, as befitted unmarried girls. They carried garlands of wildflowers and wore crowns to match. Behind them, Ziva led a small army of ladies dressed to the nines. Finally, the Lady Achren came to stand on the doorway, holding Abby's hand lightly as she presented the bride to the assembled crowd.  
  
I nearly swallowed my tongue. Abby was stunning. A plain white llaeswisg was belted right under her breasts, flaunting her swollen belly. The belt was made of dozens of gold and silver strands braided with multicolored stones. A matching rope had been woven through her elaborate hairdo. She wore high-heeled silver sandals and her toenails had been painted a different color each. The butterflies at the pit of my stomach evaporated. I felt Jethro squeeze my fingers and I tightened mine around his, knowing everything was going to be just fine.  
  
As she reached us, we reached out with our free hands to take hers.  
  
“Are they all right?” Jethro whispered.  
  
Abby patted her belly. “Summersaults until about fifteen minutes ago, then they settled down.” She grinned at us. “Let's get this show on the road before they wake up again.”  
  
Jethro and I let go of each other's hands and moved to stand on either side of her, offering her our arms. She tucked hers through and rested her hands on our forearms. We turned to face the crowd's applause. Then, smiling, we headed for the Holly Gate and our future.  



End file.
